Beauty & the Beast
by Genevieve Darcy Granger
Summary: Negan is a terrible monster in this post-apocalyptic world. Rick meanwhile is the leader of Alexandria, longing for something he can't quite name. What happens, though, when Rick stumbles upon the Sanctuary and becomes Negan's captive?
1. Prologue

Once upon a time, before the world went to hell in a handbasket, Negan lived a good life with his wife Lucille. They both worked together at the high school, him coaching baseball and basketball and her teaching English composition and literature. It was a good life, but more than anything Lucille wanted to have a child with Negan. However, he did not. He made his excuses, claiming there wasn't enough money, saying that he didn't want to share her with anything or anyone. Lucille begged and pleaded, full-heartedly believing that he would be a good father since he did so well with his athletes. But he always refused, and eventually Lucille didn't push the matter any further. Still, Negan went elsewhere to seek his pleasure.

But adultery isn't a crime of passion to commit lightly. In his heart, Negan still loved Lucille, but he did not want to give her a child. He had too many insecurities and fears of whether or not he'd be a good father to his child. He was already a shitty husband to Lucille, too possessive and too selfish. But she loved him anyway, and he loved her. So for her, he would do it.

Eventually, Negan came to terms with it himself and finally gave in. Now he wanted a child with her. He shunned his mistresses and partners, and returned to Lucille, but it was too late. In the span of five years where Negan had been out cheating, Lucille had developed ovarian cancer unknown to either of them. There would be no hope for children, but more than that, there would be no hope for Lucille either. The treatment was too much for her, and she died – but she died with an 'I love you' on her lips just for Negan.

With Lucille's death, Negan's world came crashing down around him. Lucille came back, her eyes glassy and white, her voice a guttural groan as she reached out for him. She was dead – one of those rotting corpses that Negan had heard of on the news – and being too much of a coward, he left. Eventually, Negan found his way in this new world, cutting his own path of survival, but he never forgot about Lucille. He carried her with him in his heart and in his hand in the form of a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. His heart became hard and he became a monster, because only the terrible survived anymore. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope...for who could ever learn to love a beast?


	2. Here comes the baker with his tray

In Alexandria, Rick woke a little after the sun had come up. Usually he'd be awake way before that, but times have changed. Alexandria was part of a network of other communities that learned to trade with each other: Alexandria, Hilltop, The Kingdom, Oceanside, and the Scavengers in the Dump. Finding food and supplies was no longer a problem thanks to this trade network and the fields they cultivated. Life was finally good again in this world.

Rick went about his chores for the day routinely. He scooped Judith out of her crib, changed her, fed her. He was so glad that his little girl would be able to grow up in a relatively safe environment. So long as they had walls, they would be fine. She was getting big, almost too big for her crib, and every day she looked less and less like Rick. Her eyes weren't blue, her hair was still blonde. But he took comfort in the fact that she looked so much like Lori, too. The infidelity of his wife would always sting, the ache of her death and Shane's betrayal never far from Rick's heart. But he had learned to move past it, and holding Judith in his arms, Rick thought that he blessed to have such sunshine in his life in this undead world.

When Rick came downstairs, he knew Carl was gone. Probably rushing through his chores in hopes that he could go on that run to the Hilltop. Carl's girlfriend Enid lived there now, with Glenn and Maggie. They were preparing to have their own child, and the Hilltop had the proper doctor for it. Denise was a good doctor, but she didn't have an ultrasound machine, and she had never delivered a baby before. Rick was sad to see them go, but he understood. Besides that, Glenn and Maggie had more or less asserted themselves as the Hilltop's leaders. Gregory was incompetent and easily pushed aside. Under the Rhee's rule, the Hilltop was flourishing. Rick was so proud, and he knew that Hershel would've felt the same.

Stepping outside, the sunshine was pleasantly warm today. Good weather for gardening. Honestly, he would prefer spending his day with his daughter and son in one of Alexandria's gardens. When they lived at the prison, Rick had loved the comforting monotonous labor of farming. Judith loved playing in the dirt, too. As the leader of Alexandria now, though, Rick had to supervise all the tasks, make sure things were running smoothly, keep the peace. Both Rick and Judith squinted into the sun as he climbed down his porch, leaving his house for the day.

Walking down the middle of the street with Judith on his hip, Rick nodded to his neighbors. So many familiar faces, but a few were missing. Abraham, Sasha, and Eugene had already gone into town to the armory for bullets. They were more or less preparing the area to be a permanent extension for Alexandria. The capacity to make bullets was Alexandria's main source of trade with the other communities. Michonne, Daryl, and Aaron had gone out on a run, scavenging. He had talked to Aaron on the walkie-talking they kept in touch through last night, and Aaron said that they would be back in three days. Morgan and Carol had decided to stay the Kingdom. Tara and Heath acted as the liaisons with Oceanside, and often spent their time there, much to Denise's dismay at her girlfriend's absence. They were there now, and they, too, wouldn't be expect for about another week. Out of all of Rick's people, that left just Rosita, Father Gabriel, and Rick's family left in Alexandria.

Unsurprisingly, none of Rick's people stay with the Scavengers. If anything, many of the Scavengers would come here for the luxury of sleeping in a house and taking a shower. No more than five Scavengers were allowed at a time, though, not because Alexandria didn't have the space, but because Rick didn't fully trust them yet. Communication with the Scavengers was even more awkward than it was with the Kingdom.

Today there was a garbage truck parked at the entrance, and Rick could see a few Scavengers awkwardly milling about with Rosita and Eric herding them like cats. With a sigh, Rick ducked down one of the side streets between the houses. It's not that he thought that the Scavengers had overstayed their welcome. It was just that Jadis could be a bit much at times – intense. Rick didn't think he could see her now, especially when he had Judith with him, and he really hoped that Jadis didn't visit this time. Recently, though, she came every time the Scavengers visit. Not wanting to risk it since he knew that Jadis couldn't be avoided forever, Rick made his way to the chapel to find a babysitter for Judith for the day.

Pushing open the church door, Rick saw Father Gabriel sitting on a pew with one of the Alexandrians. Try as he might, Rick couldn't remember the Alexandrian's name. "Gabriel," Rick called and hitched Judith up higher on his hip. Walking down the aisle, Rick glanced down at his daughter just in time to see her wave 'hello' at Gabriel. He smiled and looked back up at the man and the Alexandrian. "Am I interrupting something?"

Gabriel and the Alexandrian stood up. Lacing his finger in front of him demurely, Gabriel did that small, creepy smile thing. "Please, Nick and I were just finishing up here." He nodded at Nick – the Alexandrian – and Nick shuffled nervously, avoiding both his and Rick's eye. Nick bumped Rick's shoulder as he passed, and Gabriel softly called after him, "Go with God!"

A little irritated, Rick turned his head and watched Nick leave, waiting until the chapel door closed behind Nick before he turned his attention back to Gabriel. "Anything I should be worried about?"

"Confessions are private between my congregation, me, and God," Gabriel began but at Rick's raised eyebrow, Gabriel trailed off. In this world, you couldn't trust people to handle their own problems anymore. After those incidents with Jessie's abusive husband and upset sons, and the incident with Morgan and the Wolf, Alexandria learned that intimately.

"No, everything is fine, Rick," Gabriel assured him. While Gabriel was only a man of faith rather than a licensed therapist, Alexandria relied on him for guidance. Rick himself relied on Gabriel to tell him if there were any problems, and while Gabriel was a little uneasy sharing secrets, he understood why he had to do this for Rick.

Rick hummed but let the matter go, trusting Gabriel to tell him when it would become pertinent. For now, Rick had enough on his plate as it is if Jadis was in town. "I need someone to watch Judith for me, today." He bounced her lightly on his hip, wishing that he didn't always have to pass her off, but it couldn't be helped. "Can you find a member of your congregation to do it? Someone you trust."

"I can watch her," Gabriel volunteered, holding out his hands for Judith. "I understand that the Scavengers came today." There was a pause as Rick gently transferred Judith over, fondly stroking her blonde ringlets before he let her go. "Jadis came here looking for you."

Immediately, Rick's calm expression from kissing Judith's forehead goodbye shifted into one of irritation. It looks like Jadis did come after all, though Rick didn't know why she visited so much.

Seeing Rick frown, Gabriel added, "I sent her to armory to find you. I just figured you didn't want to invite her over for breakfast."

That's true, Jadis hadn't come into his home to bother him. Thank God for small mercies at least. Rick thanked Gabriel, and then turned away, waving goodbye to his daughter who waved back. Stepping out into the sunshine that seemed colder now, Rick sighed. Time to get to work. Time to deal with Jadis.

At the armory, Jadis examined the guns on the wall with interest, her loyal and mute second-in-command Brion by her side. That Olivia woman hovered somewhere awkwardly in the background, but she didn't interest Jadis. She was not in charge. Plucking a pistol off the counter, Jadis inspected it closely, checking to see if it was loaded. It was. Foolish. She aimed at the wall, and Olivia visibly flinched. Pitiful.

"If you, um, if you could tell me what you're looking for, uh, I could tell you," Olivia stuttered, "But I can't let you take anything. Rick said –"

"Where?" Jadis interrupted and dropped the gun to her side as she finally turned to acknowledge Olivia's presence. "Where?"

"Um," Olivia shrunk back slightly, "um, where is what?"

Unimpressed, Jadis raised her gun again and shot the wall. Olivia jumped, slamming her hands protectively over her ears. The gun wasn't that loud. Jadis shook her head. "Rick."

As if summoned by her calling his name, Rick rounded the corner and faced off against Jadis. "Jadis, put that gun away. You're wasting bullets." He turned to Olivia and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You can go to the pantry now, Olivia. I'll handle this." Chin quivering and tears shining in her eyes, Olivia nodded and scurried away like a mouse.

Watching her leave, Jadis rolled her eyes. Pathetic. All the women here were weak – unimpressive and lesser – but Jadis could offer Rick something they couldn't. She let Rick take the pistol from her hand and return it to the counter, watching him closely. Brion hovered nearby, and she jerked her head at him dismissively, gesturing towards the door. Ever obedient, Brion left as silent as a shadow, and now it was just her and Rick. Perfect.

"Jadis," Rick greeted her and leaned his hip back against the counter casually. "This is the third time this week you've come to Alexandria. I've told you before that if you need supplies, you have to bring stuff to trade. If you're that desperate for food, we'll share. You just have to tell us."

Not interested in any of that, Jadis stepped forward into his space, lifting her chin confidently. "No."

Unmoved, Rick squinted his eyes at her and tilted his head. He had pretty eyes, very clear and blue. Rick was undeniably a handsome man. A beauty. Jadis believed she would have him. She liked collecting broken and beautiful things in her scrapyard. He would fit in well, be her new Winslow. "Well, what is it, Jadis? You can tell me."

"Lie with me," and Jadis' tone was as imperious as it was blunt.

Immediately, Rick's impassive façade shifted into a nervous one, and he blinked at her before he cut his eyes away to the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at her. He side-stepped around her carefully. Well, he certainly hadn't seen this coming, and this wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. Although, it wasn't an altogether unpleasant response. Good. That was encouraging. Awkwardly, Rick cleared his throat. "Um, I should get back to work."

He all but bolted out the door and Jadis watched him leave. That didn't go like how she wanted, but no matter. Eventually, he would be hers.

For the rest of the day, Rick went about his business avoiding Jadis where he could. Every step of the way, Jadis doggedly nipped at his heels like puppy, her own 'puppy' Brion trailing after her. When Rick couldn't avoid talking to Jadis, he did everything in his power to not be left alone with her. She's just too intense and honestly, Rick trusted her as far as he could throw her – less than that, actually. It didn't help that she smelled like garbage and was a little stingy when trading supplies. Since the Scavengers lived at a scrapyard, the metal they offered was very important for construction projects, fortifying walls, and making bullets. Rick couldn't afford for their tenuous relationship to be compromised by Jadis's misplaced feelings. It was going to be impossible to explain that to her, though. Communication with the Scavengers was difficult to say the least. After that little revelation in the armory, talking to Jadis now was going to be even more of a challenge for Rick.

Unfortunately for Rick, though, it looked like Jadis was a problem that just wasn't going to go away. Not easily, at least. Jadis and a few of her people were going to stay in Alexandria for the night. A little distrustful – and not just because of Jadis' intentions – Rick asked Rosita and Eric, who were going to be on guard tonight, to keep an eye on the guest house the Scavengers would be staying in. Rick couldn't understand why the Scavengers were staying when there was still plenty of daylight left for them to make it back to the scrapyard. If it had to do with Jadis, that only made Rick feel worse. Still, even Carl and a small group of Alexandrians were going to make a trip to the Hilltop. If they leave now, they'll make it before nightfall.

Returning to his home, Rick walked into his living room to find Father Gabriel sitting on the rug, trying to teach Judith her shapes. It was a little odd to see the man dressed all ceremoniously like that sprawled on his floor with his toddling little daughter, but Rick managed not to laugh, settling for a warm smile at Judith. Seeing him, she smiled back with what few teeth she had and took wobbling steps toward him, arms outstretched. As Rick bent down and scooped up his daughter, Gabriel climbed to his feet, dusting off the visible dirt on his black pants. "Carl is upstairs, packing his things. He came in just five minutes before you did."

"Thanks, Gabriel," Rick placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder and looked up the stairs. "I'll let you know if I need you tomorrow."

"By all means, watching Judith is a blessing. Any day now she'll be talking, and I'd like to teach her some hymns."

At the thought of his daughter saying her first word, Rick's heart spasmed painfully in his chest. "That's nice, Gabriel. Be seeing you." Gabriel nodded and left; and Rick climbed the stairs, Judith clinging to him, curiously touching his almost all-white beard.

Rick wanted to be there, to see it happen when Judith could finally speak. She'd probably say 'Carl' as her first word since she adored her brother so much. God, he'd give anything to set aside his responsibilities just to have a chance to finally catch his breath and relax with his family.

At the top of the stairs, Rick could hear Carl rummaging around his room noisily. Gently pushing open Carl's bedroom door, Rick lingered in the doorway. Carl's room was a mess, and Rick really should make him pick up his clothes before he left. Watching Carl haphazardly shove a shirt in his bulging backpack, Rick knew that he was in a hurry, though, so he let the room go. Still, he couldn't stop his fatherly instincts that made him knowingly say, "You should have packed this morning. The crew can't afford to leave late and get stuck in the dark."

"I know, Dad," Carl snapped with typical teenaged sulkiness. He shifted around to where his body blocked the backpack from view, ducking his head and using the wide brim of the Sheriff's hat to avoid Rick's eye.

"What've you got there?" Rick pointedly asked, stepping into Carl's room now. "You may have to leave some stuff behind if you can't get it to fit, son."

"It's nothing," Carl defensively dismissed it, "I got it."

With a sigh, Rick set Judith on Carl's bed and went to his own room to fetch his bag. When he returned, he passed it to Carl, and helped him redistribute the stuff around. He fell silent, not wanting to upset Carl any further. It was obvious that he was frustrated and in a rush. Again though, Rick couldn't stop himself from being a nosy dad. As gently as he could, he asked his son, "Rough day?"

After a tense moment, Carl finally responded. "I just wish Enid lived here. Or that I lived over there," Carl mumbled, a hint of a blush on his face.

Absently, Rick wished Lori were here. He wasn't ready for this teenaged rollercoaster of emotions. Rick couldn't do this by himself. Again, he sighed. This wasn't the first time he and Carl had this conversation about living at the Hilltop. "Carl, we belong here at Alexandria. These people need us. They have no one to lead them. Glenn and Maggie are fine without us. They have Enid."

"Alexandria doesn't need us, Dad," Carl argued, his one blue eye stubbornly staring up at Rick, and Rick saw Lori's ghost on Carl's face. It was haunting how much he look like his mother – and Rick hated that he was so familiar with Lori's stink-eye, but for the last two years of their marriage, that's mostly the look she gave him. And then for the last nine months of her life, that's the look Rick would give her for betraying him. He didn't want it to be this was with Carl, too. Not when life was so precious now, and so short. "They just need you," Carl had continued, unaware of his father's inner conflict, "and it's like you said. They just need a leader. It doesn't have to be you." To himself Carl muttered something that suspiciously sounded like, "And I want to be with Enid," to Rick's ears but he let that part go, not ready to address that.

"Who else could do it?" Rick bluntly asked instead, and since he asked himself this question so many times that he knew there was no answer.

Stubbornly, Carl looked away, slinging his backpack on and grabbing the other as he headed for the door. Rick picked up Judith again and followed Carl downstairs all the way to the porch. There, Rick stopped and called after his son, "Carl!"

"What, Dad?" Carl didn't turn around but he stopped. "The trucks are about to leave."

Rick couldn't think why he stopped Carl, only that he was still afraid of his boy being out there. But he knew that Carl wouldn't appreciate that. "Aren't you gonna say goodbye to your sister?"

He could visibly see Carl heave a sigh as his tense shoulders rose and fell. But Judith was Carl's weak spot – she was everyone's weak spot – and he quickly trotted back up the stairs. He kissed Judith's cheek goodbye – "I love you, Judy," and then rushed down the stairs again. "Bye, Judy! Bye, Dad!"

"Be safe, Carl!" Rick called after his son's retreating lanky figure, blue plaid shirt flapping in the wind like wings. He looked like a little spunky blue jay, his son, leaving the nest too soon. Much softer to himself, Rick said, "I love you, son. Come home." But no one was around to hear that except Rick himself and little Judith who didn't know any better as she flapped her hand goodbye at her brother.

"Come on, Judy. How does apple sauce for dinner sound?"


	3. Lost in the Woods

Carl sat in the back of the car, watching the trees go by. Not many other people went on this run, just three others: Spencer, and two other Alexandrians that Carl didn't know that well. It was all that Alexandria could spare since their numbers have dwindled down and stretched out to other communities. Carl knew that was one of the reasons why his dad didn't want to leave Alexandria, but that was also one of the reasons why Carl was allowed to go out on runs like this. Rick knew that Carl was one of the better shots – even with just one eye – so he had to let him go. Looking away from the window, Carl called to Spencer, who was driving, "How much further do you think?" It had been what felt like almost an hour.

"Not much, which is lucky because we're almost out of gas. We'll have to refuel at the Hilltop," Spencer answered, catching and holding Carl's eye in the rearview mirror. "You want me to play some tunes? That'll help pass the time," he offered. His hand hovered at the console controls, one hand still gripping the steering wheel.

Wrinkling his nose, Carl shook his head. "I'm not in the mood for metal."

"You can't be picky with music at the end of the world, kid," Spencer countered, still looking back at Carl. He dropped his hand to his lap. "That's the third time you've asked me how much further. Looking forward to seeing your girlfriend, kid? I guess you'd rather listen to some country if that's the case."

A little irritated with Spencer's teasing and calling him 'kid', Carl belligerently glared back at him, his one eye still giving an impressive stink eye. He was just about to tell Spencer to shut up when Nick in the front seat screamed, "Holy shit, that's a herd!"

"What?" Spencer dumbly asked in disbelief and finally looked forward again. Sure enough, a herd of walkers was crossing the road ahead of them, swarming so thick that the other side of the road wasn't even visible past them. "Oh, shit!" Spencer slammed on the breaks hard, but this was an old car so it screeched loudly before it came to a stop just shy of five feet away from the herd. That was all the noise needed to redirect the herd, and hive-mindedly – mindlessly – they swerved like a river redirecting its course. Now they were coming straight towards the car. Spencer threw it in reverse and slammed on the gas again.

"Go, go, go!" Carl urged him, impatiently tapping his hands on the back of Spencer's seat.

"This isn't a racecar, kid, I'm doing the best I can!" Spencer yelled back at him. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"Don't call me kid!" Carl shouted at him and then turned around in his seat, trying to remember if there were any side roads they could take to the Hilltop. The way they were going was the fastest. They'd never make it now, and they couldn't go anywhere with this herd on their ass. "Spencer, we can't go back to Alexandria. The walls can't hold off a herd this big."

"Do we even have a choice, kid?"

Thinking fast, Carl went with his instincts. "Spencer, stop the car, let me lead the herd away."

"What? No way, kid. Where are you gonna go? The Hilltop can't handle a herd this size either."

"I'll figure it out."

Spencer shook his head once, but then he gave in. Again, he slammed on the breaks. "Everybody out and in the woods now!" Practically ripping off his seatbelt, he nimbly hopped out of the car, Nick and the other guy Matt hot on his heels. "Good luck, kid!"

Once they disappeared in the woods, the herd rounded the curve, and Carl who had climbed in the front seat immediately blasted the metal music on full volume. His ears would not be thanking him for this – if he got out alive that is. Taking advantage of how the herd liked to cut corners, Carl swerved around them back down the road, leading them away from Alexandria. He'd have to take the first side road he could find, though, otherwise he would be leading them right towards the Hilltop – right towards Glenn, Maggie, and Enid.

Pedal to the metal, Carl anxiously checked the gas levels – less than a quarter, way too close to E for his liking. It was getting dark soon, too, the sun dipping below the tree line. "Shit, shit, shit," Carl muttered to himself, not even audible to his own ears above the metal music. What was he thinking? Oh, yeah, he was thinking of Judith, of what Glenn would do, or Daryl, or Michonne, or Sasha – or Dad. Whatever would happen, at least they would be safe. At least Alexandria and the Hilltop would be safe. With that last comforting thought, Carl rolled down his windows for the hell of it, further egging the herd on, daring them to keep up, and just drove.

Eventually, Carl made it to a side road and waited a bit. He had to make sure the herd followed him instead of continuing to go straight, otherwise, they would go right to the Hilltop. Once they caught up, one walker come right up to the window where Carl stabbed it through the eye as if it were a drive-thru of murder, Carl hit the gas again. He was going to drive until he ran out of gas, put as much distance as possible between them, and then just duck in the woods and hope for the best. There were some supplies in the trunk that they had been planning on trading with the Hilltop. Carl was going to take as much of that as he could for himself now. Thank God that his dad gave him an extra bag.

Too soon for Carl's liking, the car made guttural noises. Carl tucked and rolled out of the vehicle, backpacks cushioning his fall. Quick as he could, he climbed back on his feet, hat on his head and bags in hand, and chased after the car. Before he hopped out of the still rolling car, he had popped the trunk and he could see it bobbing open. He jerked it open and stuffed water bottles and fresh produce in his bag. The herd behind him was loud, but thankfully, they couldn't see him since he rounded a curve, foliage blocking their view of him. Still, he had to be quick. If they saw him, the car wouldn't be a good enough distraction.

His backpacks could barely zip closed when he packed as much as he could. There were still a few cans left, but one day Carl would come back. He planned on it. He slammed the trunk closed and booked it for the woods. The metal music would attract walkers from miles around, so he'd have to be careful. He had a gun – a big one – and a knife. That would have to be enough. One backpack on his back, the other hanging off his shoulder, Carl hefted his gun in his hand and moved into the woods in the general direction of what he thought was the Hilltop.

After an hour, nightfall fully settled now, Carl didn't think he was going the right way anymore. Maybe jumping out of the car had been unnecessary. It felt like he had hit his head, and he knew now that he scraped his knee pretty bad, his jean ripped up and stained with blood. His ankle felt a little sore now, too.

Surely by now, though, he would have at least made it back to the main road to the Hilltop. But he couldn't stop. He was alone and there was nowhere safe to bunker down for the night. Besides, he felt like the herd was still way too close for comfort.

Eventually, Carl did make it back to the open road again, but this road was unfamiliar. Down some ways, he could see the beginnings of a town. One of those buildings would have to do for the night before he could find his bearings and get to the Hilltop. His ankle needed a rest. God, his dad was going to kill him for being so reckless and getting hurt. He'd never be allowed on runs again. 'No more visits to Enid,' he could hear his dad's voice now, ears no longer ringing from the metal music. He could picture Rick's look of concern, could almost feel the tightness in his chest from Rick's hug, the wetness on his shirt from his dad's tears. And then Rick would start yelling about how he shouldn't risk his life for those people, that he should have made Spencer do it.

Shaking his head at the imagery, Carl hefted his backpack higher and continued down the street. It was so dark – a moonless night. Just his luck. There were a few stars, though, visible now without the cloud cover and tree branches blocking the view. Enough familiar constellations were recognizable that he could find his way again, but he was too tired. His backpacks and this gun were too heavy, and he'd been up since before the sun this morning. He missed Enid a lot, her teasing and her smiles. He missed Judith's baby-talk and adorable little walk. He even missed Dad's comforting presence, how he would still come check on him at night when he thought Carl was sleeping before he would finally go to bed.

Again, Carl shook his head. He wouldn't cry when he had to be strong. Suddenly, he looked up, and there was a statue of an angel, the stone still white enough that it practically glowed in the starlight. At first, it didn't match the apocalyptic display of the surroundings at all to Carl. As he neared it curiously, he could make out some objects stringed along its neck. 'Hands,' he realized with a start. Either walker hands or human hands originally, he couldn't tell. It was obvious that they had been rotting for a while. Still, Carl couldn't miss the meaning. It was a warning of some territorial group nearby. Carl was torn, debating with himself. If he risked staying in the area, they might find him – and they might not be friendly like the other communities they had met. They could be like Terminus for all he knew.

The decision was made for Carl as suddenly the spot he was standing was illuminated by multiple lights. He flinched, raising his hands to shield his good eye protectively and he raised his gun, but didn't shoot. They could have shot him by now, but they didn't, but that didn't mean Carl would play a fool either.

Mercifully, the lights dimmed slightly, high-beams switched off, and Carl lowered his arm trying to see who was behind the lights. "Hello there!" A man's voice called to him. "You look a little lost there, but I'm gonna need you to drop your gun and whatever weapons you have on you."

Not seeing what choice he had, Carl tossed his gun to the side and even pulled his knife off, too. He figured it would be worse to be caught with that on him. Carl even went so far as to drop his bags to the side, too. Enough risks had been taken for the day on his part.

"Thank you!" That same voice politely called back. "You alone out here?"

Carl lowered his head, using the brim of his Dad's old sheriff's hat to shield his eye now. "Yeah!" He called out, voice wavering, and he wanted to kick himself.

"Don't worry, we've got a shelter. Now, no shenanigans, and we won't have any problems. I know this isn't something you would normally want to hear, but step towards the light now."

Doing as the voice said, Carl walked toward the light. Internally, he was snorting at that, but now wasn't the time for games. He wasn't dead yet.

"That's it. David, Gary. Go check out his stuff and bring it back." The speaker of the voice rounded the front of the truck, and Carl could vaguely make out the outline of a very tall, broad man. "Okay, I gotta pat you down now, make sure you don't shank us in the truck. Then we can head back to our base. We'll get you some food and a place to sleep. Get that leg looked at. Talk all this over in the morning."

Nodding his consent, Carl raised his arms and the man made short work patting him down. He made a point of avoiding touching Carl's knee, muttering something that sounded like, "Not a bite."

"No, I haven't been bitten or anything."

The man nodded, appreciatively. "Good to know." Then he finished patting Carl's legs, and Carl was grateful that he didn't have his knife in his sock anymore. The man was slightly balding with a thick black mustache. Carl shuffled nervously, but the man didn't linger, stepping back again and hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. "The name's Simon. David and Gary are the guys grabbing your things. They'll keep it in the truck bed with them. You'll probably get your stuff back if you behave. What's your name?"

"Carl."

"Nice to meet you, Carl." Simon nodded at him and swung around towards the truck. "Hop in," he casually jerked his thumb at the vehicle. "You got shotgun, but I'm driving." He climbed in the driver's seat and shut the door before he stuck his head out the window, looking at Carl. "You coming or what? You actually want to stay out here?"

After a moment, Carl finally answered by limping to the passenger side and climbing in. "Thought so," Simon said matter-of-factly.

Gary and David had already climbed in the truck bed with Carl's things, but Simon hadn't started driving yet. "Seatbelt, Carl, and then we'll go." Carl looked at him, a little bewildered, but did as he asked. True to his word, Simon started to drive and for a long awkward moment, it was quiet except for the roar of the engine.

"Where are we going?"

Simon glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before he looked forward again. "Where we're going."

Carl faced forward again.

His first look at where they were going was illuminated only by the stars and the truck's high-beam. It was an old factory, as tall and imposing as a lonely tower from a fairy tale. Instead of being guarded by a fiery breathing dragon, walkers were chained to the fence and an additional outer perimeter of about ten feet or so. It was virtually impenetrable, and Carl briefly wondered if the herd that had been following him could even make a dent on this place. Alexandria and the other communities could only dream of being as fortified as this place.

"Here it is," Simon broke the silence, "where we're going. The Sanctuary."

And Carl could believe it was a sanctuary after the day he's had.

Confidently, Simon drove right up to the front gate, and it opened for them before swinging shut behind them, nearly hitting the back of the truck. Simon parked the vehicle and climbed out, and Carl reluctantly followed, unsure of himself and wary. Simon was standing there waiting for Carl, his hands balled up into fists on his hip, and Carl half expected him to do the tea-pot dance. Judith loved whenever Carl did that for her, which wasn't often enough. If he makes it home – when he makes it home – he'd do it for her just to hear her laugh.

"Alright, Carl," Simon interrupted Carl's thoughts, "do you think you can wait for breakfast? We have a doctor who can check out your leg before we get you all settled for bed."

Before Carl could answer him – because he was hungry having missed out on dinner at the Hilltop with Enid – another man came up and interrupted them. Though he was scrawny, his clothes hanging off of him as if he were a scarecrow complete with stringy, straw-blond hair, he was just as intimidating as Simon with a big burn scar over half his face. The scar made one of his eyes look wide since some of the flesh on the lid was burned off. Bitterly, Carl could relate in a way, considering his own eye, so he didn't shy away. "Simon, what have you done?" The scarecrow-man said, "Boss is gonna be pissed you brought him here. He said let him rot, not risk your neck."

"You know I couldn't have done that, Dwight," Simon countered, not sounding at all concerned, though the scarecrow-man – Dwight, Carl learned his name – did sound more than a little scared himself. "He's just a kid, after all."

"I'm not a kid," Carl butted in. He was called kid today too much for his liking, and frankly that annoyed him more than the herd did.

Both Simon and Dwight turned to look down at him. Simon spoke first. "Alright, you're not a kid. Now, you want to get that leg checked out?"

"Yeah."

"Simon," Dwight began again, obviously annoyed at being interrupted and ignored.

"Come on, Dwight, you can come with me if you're worried he'll attack me or something," Simon nonchalantly brushed him off. He gestured for both Dwight and Carl to follow him and they headed inside. It was dark, too dark for Carl's single eye to see that well, but Simon seemed to know where he was going so Carl trusted him, sticking close to his side.

To Carl, Simon said, "Gary and David already took your things to where you'll be sleeping. They won't be joining us, they've got gate duty tomorrow. Oh, and while you're here, Carl, you're not getting your gun back. Sorry, but safety first. It's been almost a hundred days since our last incident, and I have a bet to win and a bottle of tequila with my name on it."

Not knowing how to answer, Carl settled on saying nothing – that's probably what Daryl or Michonne would have done. Or Dad. Simon wasn't offended, he just blithely continued, "Oh, you've probably aren't even old enough to drink. Well, that hardly matters anymore. How old are you anyway, since you're not a kid? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen," Carl shortly answered.

Simon waited for him to say something else, but Carl didn't. "You don't talk much, huh? I get it. Strong, silent type, huh? Chicks dig that, right, Dwight? You two could be twins. Both need a haircut, both have that cool scar thing going on. You'll fit right in here, kid. Sorry, I mean, Carl."

"Simon," Dwight whispered in a tight, strained voice.

"What is it, Dwight?"

"SIMON!" A deep and forbidding voice shouted, and the factory floor lightly overhead flickered on. Carl shrunk slightly, and whipped around, having to turn in a complete circle to see everything. Men surrounding him on all sides – most of them on the catwalk crisscrossing above them, but a few men were starting to creep out of the shadows, too, from either side.

Directly in front of them, a tall and lean man stepped out shadows dramatically, his bootsteps too loud, commanding the attention of everyone, but they all kept their eyes on Carl. Carl stared at the man ahead of him, and the man was more intimidating that Simon and Dwight combined. His black hair was oily, slicked out of his face, and his face was bearded, more silver than colored. He was wearing a black leather jacket that made him look broad, bigger, and he had a blood red scarf tucked around his neck. In his black leather-gloved hands was a wooden baseball bat, thickly wrapped in glittering barbed-wire. A badass beautiful looking weapon that made Carl second-guess about coming here. The man's eyes were so dark, they were almost soulless, and Carl would think he didn't have any emotions besides anger if it weren't for his wide smile, teeth too white and bright and almost sharp looking. It was the smile of a shark, it was the smile of a wolf – it was the smile of a predator, and Carl had flashbacks to Terminus with the cannibals, to the deranged Governor, to the Claimers pushing him down on his knees, face in the dirt, pressing against him –

"Get on your fucking knees, dipshit," the man practically growled at him, and Carl felt himself hyperventilating. This was too damn familiar. No, no, no.

"Boss," Simon began placating, raising his hands in a pleading gesture.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Simon, before I burn your fucking face off until your fucking mustache even pisses itself. You didn't follow my damn orders. You brought the fucking kid here, so you don't get to decide what the fuck I'll do with him," the man snarled at Simon without looking away from Carl's one eye. "Either knock the fucking kid on his fucking knees or get the FUCK out of the way. You've pissed me off enough tonight, damn it."

With a small sigh, barely audible to Carl over the roaring in his ears, Simon came up to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. "Better do as he says."

All of Carl's courage gone, he sunk to his knees on the hard, unforgiving the floor. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the man, fearing that the moment he did a baseball bat would pop his other eye out. Balling his hands into fists in his lap, Carl lifted his chin and stared the man down. He wouldn't cry when he had to be strong. That's what Daryl would do, right? Or Michonne. Or Dad.

Ever so slowly, the man walked toward him, swinging his bat around so fast that Carl felt like he could hear the air whistling between the barbed wire. "You've got some big fucking brass balls if you think you could just fucking trapeze in here scott-fucking-free, kid. You are so gonna regret you ever fucking came here," he paused, balancing on one foot, and his smile broaden and spread over his face like poisonous syrup over a pancake. "Fuck yeah, you are." He bit his lip, and kept walking around Carl in a tight circle.

Silently kneeling, Carl's body betrayed him as it trembled. He dug his fingers in his jeans, fingernails close to his scraped-up knee, and the pain kept him grounded. Be strong, be strong.

The man circled back in front of Carl again so he could look him in the face. "I'm Negan, and this," he held up the bat right up to Carl's face, and Carl leaned back to avoid the barbed wire from cutting his cheek, "this is Lucille, and she. Is. Awesome. So fucking awesome. And she's feeling a bit fucking thirsty." Leaning towards Carl, Negan made a show of pretending to lower his voice as though he were sharing a secret, "she's a fucking vampire bat." Negan curved his body down, bending at the waist, balancing with the tip of Lucille planted on the floor in front of him. His face is inches from Carl's, the smile souring and spasming into a cruel and less mirthful one. "Since you're fucking here, why don't you get fucking comfortable, huh kid?"

Pulling away, Negan propped Lucille up on his shoulder carefully and walked back into the shadows where he came from. Without a backwards glance, he barked back over his shoulder, "Dwight! Take that prisoner to his cell. Dipshit Training Center it is!"

The men all around him laughed darkly, and Carl's one good eye widened in fear. He flipped around to stare at Dwight, his hair flicking in his face. Dwight looked at him apologetically, and then grabbed his upper arm, hauling him to his feet and leading him away. Carl wished that he had never come here.


	4. Where's Carl

That night at dinner, Rick sat in the living room. Without Carl or any of his other family there it didn't feel right eating at the kitchen table. Rick carefully balanced Judith on his lap, letting her lean back against the tops of his thighs as he spoon-fed apple sauce in her mouth. Rick's dinner, a can of chili, lay cold and half-finished on the coffee table by his sock-covered feet and next to his Colt Python. Normally Carl is the one to feed Judith since whenever Rick did it he ended up making faces at her that she'd try to mimic instead of eating. Since it was just Rick and Judith tonight, though, he had to take his time. It was relaxing if not a little lonely. He missed Carl, but he felt like there was something else that was lacking, too.

He had just wiped a bit of apple sauce off of Judith's chubby chin when he swore that he heard something. Falling still, Rick cocked his head, listening hard. His instincts reared their ugly heads, stomach twisting. Yes, he had definitely heard something like a creak on the wooden porch.

Gently, he placed Judith on the couch, tucking a throw blanket around her. She attempted to shove an entire chubby fist into her mouth, gnawing and slobbering happily on her knuckles as she watched her father pick up his Colt Python and move stealthily towards the window. Peering out through the blinds and curtains, he couldn't really see anything. Moving towards the door, he glanced through the peephole. Immediately, he sighed.

Tucking his gun in the back of his jeans, Rick opened the door. "Jadis," he greeted a little gruffly. Briefly, he wondered if she was here to complain about having Rosita and Eric keep an eye on them. "Why are you here?" He wanted to add about how it can't possibly be so important that it can't wait until tomorrow, but he held his tongue. Only just barely.

Without waiting for his invite, Jadis stepped into his home, placing a gloved hand on his sternum. Her eyes stared unblinkingly into his, and Rick found himself leaning back, uncomfortable. How did she even know where he lived anyway? Why didn't she knock? How long was she standing there before Rick found her?

"Rick," Jadis began in her low and sultry voice. "Lie with me now." With her other hand, she gestured further into his home, and Rick held his breath at the overpowering stench of garbage that clung to her clothes.

She was still wearing her odd denim ensemble, while he had taking off his button up, now only in his plain white shirt. He felt vulnerable without the extra layer of protection. Rick really wasn't sure how to tell her no, but he definitely knew that he didn't want to say yes. "Jadis, I can't do that with you here."

Frowning slightly, Jadis walked further into his home and Rick followed after her. If he threw her out now, most likely he'd have an issue with the Scavengers. Not something he wanted to risk with most of his best fighters gone. Jadis walked into the living room and stopped once she saw Judith sitting there and staring off into space. Turning to Rick, she jerked her head towards Judith. "Yours?" She didn't sound exactly pleased to find Judith.

Pushing past her, Rick picked up Judith, holding her protectively to his chest. "Yes, she's my daughter." He didn't miss the curl in Jadis's lip before she turned away.

"Send it away," Jadis told him, and Rick blinked at the order. If Jadis was anything like him, then she wasn't used to people not following her orders. "Lie here," she pointed to the couch where he had just been eating with his daughter, "or there." She pointed up the stairs now and Rick shook slightly with rage at the implication that he'd take her to bed. "Choose."

"Neither, Jadis," Rick began firmly, and Judith wiggled in his too-tight grip. Instantly, he loosened his arms around her, and stroked her hair in apology. "I'm not going to sleep with you."

Jadis actually looked confused at that. She tilted her head to one side, and Rick felt like she was making fun of him, mocking him. Narrowing her eyes, Jadis asked him, "You're with someone?"

"No," Rick unthinkingly answered.

"Lie with me," Jadis repeated, sounding relieved, happy, and smug.

"No!" Rick raised his voice at her, and Judith started crying in his arms, face crumpling and tears instantly dribbling down her chubby cheeks. Angry at himself and Jadis, Rick lightly bounced Judith in his arms to calm her, shushing and humming. Again, Carl was better at calming her down when she cried but she cries so infrequently anyway. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Rick turned his back to Jadis, trying to calm his temper so that Judith would calm down, too. He couldn't do that though when he caught sight of the look of disgust on Jadis's face.

Before he could ask Jadis to leave, he heard some sort of commotion outside. Clutching Judith tighter to his chest, Rick wished he had put her to bed earlier. But he couldn't leave her alone now, and he especially couldn't leave her with Jadis. The decision made for him, Rick exchanged a tense look with Jadis and hurried out the door. Standing on his porch, Rick could hear the clanging as the gate was opened and closed. Jadis followed him out, but didn't ask any questions or proposition him any further – thank God.

Straining his ears for the sound of gunfire or anything else, Rick heard nothing except Rosita's angry shouting. Trusting her and Eric to handle it, Rick gingerly sat on one of the rocking chairs. If they needed him, they would come to him. As he anxiously waited, he rocked Judith back and forth hoping to lull her to sleep. Her crying had died down to whimpers now, and Rick crooned nonsense to her, steadily avoiding looking at Jadis, who for some reason hadn't left yet.

Sure enough, just as Rick suspected, here came Rosita with Spencer and that Alexandrian from the chapel – Nick? – in tow. "Rick," Rosita began, but then she paused once she caught sight of Judith and Jadis.

Not able to stand with Judith fussing in his arms, Rick tiredly asked, "What happened?" Then he remembered that it was Spencer who was in charge of the trip to the Hilltop. His blood ran cold in his veins. "Where's my son, Spencer?"

"That's…what we came here to tell you." Spencer looked exhausted, a sweaty mess, blood sprayed on his clothes. The sight of him made Rick wonder just whose blood was it.

"Where is Carl?" Rick croaked, trying not to upset Judith again, though he desperately wanted to stand up and shout and shake Spencer around.

"We were on our way to the Hilltop," Spencer began to explain, "and there was a herd."

"How big?" Rick gulped nervously. No, no, he didn't want to hear this, to believe it. Carl…Carl.

"Massive, too many to get a good head count. We couldn't drive through it, or wait for it to pass. We couldn't risk having it follow us back here or to the Hilltop either. There's no way our walls or theirs could withstand a herd that size."

"You escaped somehow," Rick belligerently argued and accused him, "Did they follow you?"

"No," Spencer seemed ashamed now. "Carl suggested that he take the car and lead them away. We let him. We got out and ran for Alexandria. A bit of the herd broke off and followed us. We took the few that followed us down, but Matt didn't make it."

Dimly, Rick was aware that one of the Alexandrians had died, but the only thing he could focus on was that Carl might be alive. "You let my son," Rick began in a low voice, "lead away an entire herd? Why was Carl driving?"

"He wasn't, I was," Spencer said.

Rick grinded his teeth together hard before he forced himself to unclench his jaw. "So, you stopped the car and let my son drive away? Whose idea was it?"

"Carl's."

Honestly, Rick wasn't surprised. It seemed like exactly the kind of hair-brained, selfless scheme that someone from his family would suggest, like Glenn or Tara. Looking down at Judith in his arms, Rick drew strength from the fact that she was sleeping peacefully. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes closed, and then looked back up at Spencer again.

"Better get some rest, now, Spencer. Because in the morning, you, me, and Nick are going back out there, and we're looking for Carl." Ever so carefully, he stood up, careful not to jostle Judith too much that she'd wake up. "We're going to find him."

Without another word, Rick went inside and closed the door behind him. He went upstairs and crawled into his bed, keeping Judith with him. But sleep never came because all he could think about was his son.

"Carl…Carl."

Needless to say, Rick kept his word. He woke up before Judith did, having not slept more than an hour or two at the most, and rolled over to grab the walkie-talkie. Leaving Judith to sleep a little longer, Rick attempted to get in contact with Aaron, Michonne, and Daryl again. After a moment, the radio static gave way to Aaron's voice. "Morning, Rick. We're all fine here. We've found at least five boxes of MREs."

Even though there was no one there to see it, Rick nodded. He forced himself to swallow down the anxiety bubbling up in his throat like bile, but his voice was still hoarse when he finally spoke. "Good haul." He cleared his throat, and then spoke again, "Carl's out there somewhere. And there's a herd. I'm going to find him. Can you keep an eye out for Carl or the herd?"

When the radio crackled again, it was Michonne's voice on the other side, "Rick, do you want us to go find him?"

"No," Rick croaked and squeezed the walkie-talkie tighter with frustration before he finally sighed, "Spencer has an idea of where he is. I'm going out there with him and Nick. You stick to the plan. Just be careful with that herd out there."

"We will," Michonne assured him, and then Aaron spoke again, "We'll be back in two days with plenty of food."

"Good," Rick said, "We need it." Then the radio went dead. For a while Rick stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, staring down at the hardwood floors. Judith's morning cry is what finally pulled him back to Earth, and he went to his daughter, softly murmuring, "Morning, Sunshine."

After feeding and changing her, Rick took Judith to the chapel again. He made a visit to Aaron and Eric's house on the way to give Eric the walkie-talkie. At the chapel, Rick didn't waste time with pleasantries. He just passed his daughter over and kissed the crown of her hair goodbye. "I heard what happened. Rosita told me," Gabriel said quietly. Rick paused, staring at Judith in Father Gabriel's arms. He could remember when Carl was this little, too. "Carl is strong, but I'll send a prayer his way. You should, too," Gabriel added meaningfully. Rick looked up at Gabriel and nodded mutely. Then he left for Eric's house.

Rick's last stop was to speak with Rosita at the gate. Spencer and Nick were waiting by the car, while he and Rosita had a chat. He placed her in charge until he came back and said no other groups would be allowed to leave. Additionally, while he was gone, no Scavengers could stay. "What about Eugene, Abraham, and Sasha?" Rosita crossed her arms over her chest, mouth twisting around Abraham's and Sasha's names. "They should know about the herd."

Glancing over at where the Scavengers were gathered by their dump truck, Rick shifted from foot to foot, impatient to leave. "After we leave, either you or Eric can head into the town to get them. Only one of you. We're short enough on people here as it is."

"Don't take Nick, then," Rosita countered, grabbing the handle on the gate, ready to open it for them. "Just take Spencer." She glanced over Spencer himself and gave him a sarcastic smile. Rick had heard her chew him out for his cowardice after he had gone inside. He also assumed that they were broken up now because of that, too.

Mulling over Rosita's suggestion quickly, Rick didn't change his mind. "No. Nick might remember something that Spencer didn't mention." Rosita didn't look happy, so she let it go.

Rick walked to the car, motioning for Nick and Spencer to get in. He nodded to Jadis, but she approached him. Of course, she wouldn't let him leave yet. Once she was in earshot, he called to her, "You should go home Jadis, fortify the scrapyard. If there's a herd out there, you need to be ready for it." Jadis gave him an impassive look, and belated Rick thought about the Scavengers' unofficial saying: _We take, don't bother_. Thinking about last night, something didn't sit well with Rick. He thought about how Rosita said they should warn the others, and he thought about how Alexandria didn't have the manpower currently to do that. But maybe, if he could use Jadis, then her infatuation could be useful. "Jadis, can you send a scout to Oceanside and the Kingdom? They deserve to know about the herd, too."

Again, she stared at him for a tad too long before she agreed to do it with a silent nod. Rick didn't like that look on her face. Even though she was a leader, she was too calm about this. He still had that uneasy feeling with her.

Still, he could do nothing about it now until he regrouped with his own people – and he was eager to leave to find his son. He climbed in his car and waited for the Scavengers to climb in their dump truck before he signaled to Rosita to open the gate. Rick drove out first, and for a long time, they drove one behind the other. Eventually, the dump truck broke away, heading for where the Scavengers' scrapyard was. And now it was just Rick, Spencer, and Nick.

They drove in tense silence for a long time. Because the herd was still out there, they couldn't risk going too fast. Spencer tried speaking only once to apologize, but Rick had silenced him with a look. Nick hadn't spoken a word. Once they reached the spot where Spencer said Carl drove away, Rick parked the car and finally spoke to Spencer again, "You were here. You left, Carl got in and started driving."

"Yeah," Spencer answered, eager to redeem himself, "the gas tank was almost empty, so he couldn't have gone far. But he went that way, and there's no way he would risk leading the herd to Hilltop. Not with his girlfriend there."

Rick shot Spencer another look of warning. The more Spencer explained the situation, the less and less Rick liked how this went down. How irresponsible was it to not carry extra gas? Why didn't they have more long-distance radios? Surely by now the people waiting for them at the Hilltop were getting suspicious, too. "How well do you know this area, Spencer?"

"Not well," Spencer honestly admitted.

Rick hummed, not surprised but deeply irritated. "I say we go to the Hilltop, check and see if Carl made it back there." Unspoken in the car was the hidden threat that they better hope he had made it for their sake.

So, they drove on, the tense silence returning. Rick feverishly hoped that Carl was okay, and it only comforted him to know that at least Carl wasn't as hopeless as Spencer in any case. Part of him was proud of Carl's selflessness, but Rick was overwhelmed and consumed with fear that something had happened to him. They hadn't even made it to the Hilltop when they ran into a familiar face on the road: Jesus.

Jesus was in his own car, and they pulled alongside each other to talk. "When you didn't show up last night, Maggie sent me to check and see if you guys were okay," Jesus shouted from his car.

"They ran into a herd last night, were forced to lead it away," Rick explained. "Did Carl make it to the Hilltop?"

"He wasn't there when I left."

Rick quickly looked down on at his lap, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles blanched white. "Do you know the area well, Jesus?" He asked when he looked back up.

"Is that even a question?" Jesus smugly responded, slightly smirking, his light eyes playful.

Jesus's confidence comforted Rick, but he couldn't match his playful mood. Turning to Spencer and Nick, Rick ordered, "You take this car to the Hilltop, tell them what happened. If that herd is still out there, they need to be ready for it. Then you go straight back to Alexandria." Without a backwards glance at them, Rick climbed out of the car with his borrowed bag from Eric, and climbed in the car with Jesus instead. "There any side roads that lead away from Alexandria and the Hilltop on this road?" He asked without preamble.

It only took Jesus a minute to think, tapping his gloved fingers on the steering wheel, before he answered, "As luck would have it, only one that would lead away from both directions at the same time."

"Let's go," Rick tapped the dash twice, and Jesus whipped the car around and sped away. In the rearview mirror, Rick saw Spencer and Nick drive for the Hilltop. Jesus's voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

"I think I have an idea of where Carl might be."

Rick immediately turned to Jesus. "Where? Somewhere safe?"

Jesus hesitated. "Maybe." At Rick's insistent look, Jesus continued to explain with his eyes on the road, "I know there's a community this way. Not exactly friendly. Whenever we go out on runs, we avoid this direction."

"Why haven't you mentioned them before?" Rick asked, only a little exasperated.

"Last time the Hilltop reached out to them, at least two people died. When the Kingdom reached out to them, a boy died. We've only let them be because they want to be left alone, and there's too many of them," Jesus explained.

Rick's anxiety for Carl resurfaced again. If these people could kill a boy, how would Carl be okay? "And you never told us about any of this?"

"There's a hard winter. They don't grow their own food, we thought they moved on, or at least dissolved. At least two large groups left from them and we chased them out of the area." Jesus glanced over at Rick quickly before he looked back at the road. "Don't worry. There were some friendly ones in the bunch. I talked to them before." Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that Rick still had that same skeptical and worried look creasing his brow. "Carl's smart and a good kid. I'm sure he managed to avoid capture, but they could point us in the right direction at least."

Only slightly appeased, Rick grunted and turned away. It was gladdening to know that some many people had faith in Carl - and Rick, too, knew that his son was strong and skilled. But that was just it. Carl was his son, only a boy. It was Rick's job to keep him safe. Staring out the window, Rick kept his eyes sharp for any sign of his son while he ran an internal mantra praying that Carl was alive and safe. He clenched his hands on his lap, chest tight, and just kept praying. Gabriel would be proud.


	5. Future Little Serial Killer

Carl spent what felt like only an hour in Dipshit Training Center before he had his first visitor. As his luck would have it, strangely enough, his first visitor was the doctor of the Sanctuary: Dr. Carson. He was an older man, frail and thin, but he didn't harass Carl. The doctor seemed to know what he was doing as he disinfected Carl's scraped knee and bandaged it up. At Carl's behest, he checked out his ankle, too, and said it would be fine so long as he rested it – meaning no long-distance walking. Dr. Carson even went so far as to check Carl for a concussion – nothing. He didn't talk much other than introduce himself and talk about the injuries. The only medicine he offered Carl was an aspirin for the pain that Carl had to dry swallow, gagging on the chalkiness sticking to his throat. After all the doctor's fussing, he left, and Carl was left alone in the dark again.

But it didn't last for long. Carl hadn't even had the chance to fall asleep again before a woman came offering food. She had long blonde hair, wavy and pulled out of her face, showing her blue eyes. On her neck was a curious tattoo like the bar sign on a package of food. Her name was Laura, and she offered Carl a sandwich with fresh tomatoes, lettuce, pickles, and a boiled egg. "Dwight made it," she explained, "but he's in trouble with Negan right now, so he couldn't come himself. He asked me to bring it to you."

Laura kept Carl company for a bit while he ate the sandwich. He was surprised by how fresh and good it was. It was almost like Subway to him. Or as much like Subway as he could remember from before all this. They must have baked this bread from scratch, too. As Carl scarfed the sandwich down, not bothering to be polite, Laura sat next to him leaving enough room that he didn't feel crowded or unsafe. She leaned against the wall and propped her arms on her knees. "Sorry I couldn't bring you any blankets or pillows, but this is just a temporary thing I'm sure."

Swishing his hair out of his good eye, Carl just looked at her unable to talk around his mouth full of sandwich. He had crammed half the boiled egg and the pickle in his mouth, wondering where they kept their chickens. Carl also realized that he really missed pickles. Eventually, he swallowed his mouthful and nodded at her. "It's okay."

"You're not scared of the dark, are you?" Laura teased him with a smirk. "If you are maybe I could bring you a lamp so you could sleep. But a kid like you out there with that herd and that big of a gun all by yourself? We don't think you're scared of anything. Negan likes people like that. People with balls."

Licking the pickle juice off his finger, Carl let the kid comment go since she brought him the sandwich. He didn't think she was much older than him. Maybe around Tara's age or so. Her comments about Negan were weird, though, to say the least. "Does that mean you have balls, too?" Carl flippantly asked, shifting his injured leg gingerly. One of his feet had fallen asleep. "You're one of them."

"We're called Saviors," Laura laughed softly, attempting to muffle the sound with her hand. In the dim lighting, Carl could just make out the faint gleam of a piercing somewhere around her mouth. Maybe a lip ring or tongue stud? He wished he could see better. "And yeah, Negan says I have beach-ball sized lady nuts. I think my friend Arat's are bigger, but you'd have to see for yourself."

Carl balked, not sure of what to say, and Laura laughed again. When she turned her face to stare forward at the door, Carl could see the light catch on her nose ring, and he looked away. "Thanks for the sandwich. It was good."

"I'll tell Dwight that you liked it. He'll appreciate the compliment on his sandwich making skills," Laura said. When Carl looked back at her again, he could tell she was smiling even in the dark. He looked down again quickly.

After she left, Carl began to wonder what the hell Negan's posturing was for if everyone here was going to go behind his back to see him. He honestly doubted that Negan sent him the doctor – it was probably Simon. Now with food in his belly and the ache in his leg subsided, all Carl wanted to do was sleep. But just like last time, just when he got close to nodding off, someone came visiting. This time, it was a man, slightly familiar. Carl remembered him from Simon's truck. He had grabbed one of his bags.

"You okay? Negan, he…sent me to check on you. They…patched you real well, didn't they? Bandaged your leg up nice." The bald man said in a weird sort of voice, standing there in their doorway, silhouetted by the light behind him.

Not for one second did Carl believe that Negan sent this man, but if he did, Carl was going to take advantage of it. "Can I have some water?" He asked, his throat more than a little dry from eating the sandwich earlier, though thankfully the bitterness of the aspirin was gone.

"Allow me to introduce myself first," the bald man said in a too-calm way as he stepped inside the word, closing the door behind him nearly all the wall. Now there was just a slight sliver of light peeking in, illuminating Carl's one bright blue eye like a jewel in the dark. The bald man looked at him and continued, "My name's David. I don't know if you noticed me before. Did you?"

"No, not really," Carl admitted. This was very strange. The doctor had gone about his business while he was here and Laura had just sat down beside him comfortably while he ate. But this guy… there was something off about him.

"Well, I can forgive that. I stick to myself, mostly. You'll remember me if I get you water, right?" David knelt down in front of Carl on one knee, a twitchy smile on his face. "You sure are pretty…"

Immediately, Carl frowned, bringing his legs up close to his chest despite the twinge in his knee. "If I get you water…which is something I'm NOT supposed to do… will you do something for me you're not supposed to do?" David reached over and grabbed Carl's bad ankle, yanking his leg down and pulling him closer to him. Carl hissed in pain. "Will you?" He leaned closer, teeth bared in that twitchy smile, "Tell me how thirsty you are."

Carl's face crumpled in distaste, bile rising in his throat so acidic that it burned. His eye squeezed shut and he turned his face away, flashes of the Claimers dancing behind his eyelid. He could see them now, feel them press him on his face into the dirt, the night air nippy but the weight of that man crushing him so tight he could barely sob. And now David was clutching a fistful of his shirt, breath rank on his face as he hissed in a low, menacing tone, "Stop squirming or you won't get so much as a drop of water. Of course, if you fight back you're only going to make it last longer. Either one is fine with me…for the record." Gulping down the bile, Carl went rigid.

"DAVID!" Negan shouted, and the door whipped open with a slam that echoed, both from the door hitting the wall and Lucille beating against the door. The closet was flooded with light and Negan was illuminated like an angel descending from heaven, if angels wore white t-shirts, carried baseball bats, and swore like hell. David started guiltily and pulled away, but Negan just continued yelling, pointing an accusing finger at him, "What the fucking fuck are you doing in here?!"

"Negan, sir, I…" David stuttered, halfway raising himself up.

"Do you really think I need you to answer that? I can see you're trying to rape this boy! Fucking kiddy fiddler sick fuck! Fucking pedophile! You were going to fucking rape this boy, weren't you?" The louder Negan shouted, the more David seemed to shrink until he returned to his kneeling position, this time facing Negan. Carl shoved himself into a corner as far away from David as he could possibly get.

"What the fuck are we doing here? What are we trying to achieve? For fuck's sake don't answer that either! There's no fucking way you have a goddamn clue what the bigger fucking picture is!" Negan reached down and yanked David to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "We want a community that can accomplish things together! We can't fucking do that if we have sunk to such in-fucking-human levels!" Negan shoved David backwards until the bald man stumbled against the wall.

Stepping forward into David's personal space, Negan's voice dropped to a normal volume, tone laced with threats and venom. "Repeat after me: We. Don't. Rape."

Gulping nervously, David licked his lips and stuttered, "We don't rape."

Leaning back, Negan pinched the bridge of his nose with his freehand, the black leather contrasting sharply with his beard as he rubbed it vigorously through the silver stubble. "David," Negan heavily sighed, "this is unacceptable. Rape is against the rules here. You remember the rules, don't you? Don't answer that. You've really crossed a line here, you stupid fuck. Multiple goddamn lines. We don't rape and he's just a fucking kid. What if we had kids living here?"

"I'm sorry, sir," David meekly apologized.

For a long moment, Carl thought that Negan would let the man get away with it. It's not like he actually raped him yet, just attempted to. But then Negan stabbed David through the neck – a big smile on his face – and Carl couldn't even remember seeing Negan pull the huge, serrated knife out. "I do not accept your fucking shitty ass apology."

Like a fish, David gaped, blood gushing from his 'gills' before he collapsed on the floor, blood gushing everywhere. Carl scooted as far back as possible, and Negan gently knelt and leaned over David's rapidly cooling, bloody corpse. "I'm sorry you had to see that, though, I'm sure a badass like you have had to do plenty of shit before. I really want you to understand, we're not monsters here. Not like fucking that."

All Carl could do is stare at him in disbelief, still a little shaken up from the experience. Part of him – a very small childish part of him that used humor to cope – couldn't help but draw the connections between Negan and his Saviors versus Negan being an actual Savior. Much like the Sanctuary, not just a pretty word. But basic human decency against rape didn't automatically grant trust, though often times at the end of the world it would have to do. Nonetheless Carl was still suspicious.

Negan sighed, looking down at the mess the body was making. "Well, you can't sleep here tonight. I didn't plan on making you either. Just wanted to shake you up a bit. See what the fuck you were made of. That's why I was coming down to fucking see you. A kid like you just doesn't show up with that kind of machine gun all damn Rambo style every day around here. Fuck, did you pick that gun because it looked cool? I bet you fucking did. You're future serial killer material."

Nodding, Negan licked his lips. "Yeah, you show up way too fucking close, a herd of the dead not far off, and that just rings the damn alarm bells to me. You could be bait. You could be in here to open the door to a pack of bloodthirsty killers, little future serial killer, that you are. But no matter what, no one deserves to be fucking raped, kid."

Well, Carl wasn't expecting that either, so he just squinted and tilted his head at Negan. Negan glanced down at the corpse again. "He's looking a little twitchy. But we'll have someone take care of him in the morning. He can stay here tonight, the sick fuck. Rapey fucking Davey." Looking back up at Carl, Negan offered, "Come on, I'll show you to your room. It has some food if you're hungry. Video games. Books. No weapons, though, and I'll have to lock you in for safety purposes." Negan stood up and offered Carl his hand.

When Carl didn't take it, Negan dramatically sighed, rolling his eyes and leaning even further back on his heels. Carl had to wonder how he didn't fall over. "Seriously kid? You're lucky you even have a hand after showing up here. I coulda chopped that fucker right off, if I wanted to." It's strange, but Negan threatening Carl rights his sense of normalcy, and he finally accepts Negan's hand. Carl could handle threats – he was used to it by now in this world, especially from strangers. The only time he could fully accept kindness would be from his family – and even then he knew that his family could be very violent, too. Even after the doctor and Laura visiting him, Carl was still wary, distrustful. Everyone in this world has an ulterior motive. It was hard for Carl to admit it, but maybe the people living here were like all the other communities, too.

After he helped Carl up to his feet, Negan shut the door behind Carl and led him only three doors down the hall before he showed him to his room. "I see the doc already took a look at you. You'll have to thank Simon for that shit. Too fucking trusting. Anyway, don't try any fucking shit or make me regret any of this." Carl stepped in his room, and turned back to see Negan waving goodbye as he shut the door on him and locked him in again.

Since it was night and Carl was exhausted, he only looked around his room briefly before he collapsed into the bed, instantly falling asleep as soon as his cheek touched the cool, soft pillow. All he wanted to do was sleep and forget about everything that has happened – and everything that could have happened, or still could happen for that matter, too.

In the morning, Carl didn't wake up to the sunlight like he was used to. He didn't hear Judith's morning cry, or his dad making breakfast downstairs. It was strange to wake up to none of that when he sat up in bed. Hissing through his teeth, he remembered what did wake him up from his dreamless sleep. His leg was stiff, and he gingerly stood up, careful not to put too much wait on his foot. As he walked around a bit more, his leg started to loosen up and feel better.

Carefully, he took small mincing steps to the fridge. There were peaches, and Carl thought of Judith again. She liked applesauce, but would she like peaches, too? Like the kind that come in a pudding cup, sitting in juice. Were those even peach slices? He couldn't remember the last time he had them. Did Mom pack those for his lunch or did he come home from school to have as a snack.

Taking one from the fridge, Carl picked it at, hesitating to eat just yet as he snooped around the room. In front of the TV, a very old-fashioned, grey gaming system was set up. Carl didn't even think he had owned a kind like this when he was a kid, and since the system was so old he couldn't even read the faded label. On the coffee table were magazines, and Carl pushed through them disinterestedly. They didn't have any comic books, but there were copies of Playboy. He made a face at that, though, and quickly turned away as something else caught his attention.

There was this large radio, and inspecting it closer, Carl could see that it could also play CDs and tapes. He thought of yesterday when he listened to Spencer's edgy metal music, and on an impulse, he pressed play without checking the CD. The music was up-beat, thankfully nothing like the metal, and the woman didn't scream when she sang, " _We're on Easy Street, and it feels so sweet_."

Pressing his lips together, all Carl could think of is how Dad would like this sappy kind of shit. It was repetitive, the kind of music that would get stuck in your head, and Rick lived for that kind of music so that he didn't have to think. He could remember Dad bawling along to country songs from before. Mom had always had better taste in music.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on his door, and Carl quickly switched the music off. His approach to the door was far more subdued and cautious, and he slowly opened the door. And there was Laura. "Hey, kid."

"My name is Carl."

"Carl," Laura amended with a smirk twisting her mouth. "Boss sent me to come get you."

"What for?" Carl suspiciously asked, his tone hard.

"I don't know, but you have to come anyway, so don't make this difficult." Laura shrugged. "So, come on or I'll have to drag you."

"Is it far?" Carl hedged, "My ankle is still a little sore."

Laura glanced down at his leg briefly before her blue eyes flickered back up and focused on his one. "It's not far. You'll be fine."

Not really having a choice, Carl followed her, closing the door to his new room behind him. They passed by Dipshit Training Center, and Carl glanced at, noticing how the blood from Rapey Davey had leaked out from under the door. "Someone will be along to clean that up later," Laura assured Carl. Lowering her voice, she added, "What happened, Carl?" Slowing down until they were walking side by side, she continued, "Negan said that David was dead for breaking the rules, but he didn't say what rule. He might announce it later, but if it's for helping you or something, can we just keep that between us?"

Shaking his head at her, Carl said, "You don't have anything to worry about." He left it at that.

She gave him a look, but didn't push any further. And then they stepped out on the factory floor, Carl barely able to recognize it in the daylight and because there were so many busy people working. Unlike last night, many of the people working were old people and a lot more women – people unsuitable for fighting, Carl realized. The factory had been transformed into a market place as people bartered for food, clothes, and other miscellaneous items.

"We use a point system," Laura explained to him. "People make stuff, grow stuff, scavenge stuff. They trade it in for points so they can buy the stuff they need." They strolled through the market place together, Carl taking in as much as he could with his one eye. "You're one of us now, not them," Laura told him and Carl looked at her in surprise. "They eat shit, we eat good." She jerked her chin at the workers around them.

"They're not Saviors?"

"Do they look like they're saving anyone? We save them. They need us."

Carl thought of his dad, how Alexandria was running. Ever since his family had gotten there, there had been a heavy burden on them to sacrifice and risk their lives for the community. Thinking of how Rick never got time to his family, how Carl couldn't be with Enid, it just didn't seem fair. Turning away from Laura, wrapped up in his own thoughts, Carl spied with his one eye a jar of pickles sitting on a table. Immediately he was drawn to them.

"Must be your lucky day, kid." Laura interrupted his thoughts as she came up behind him.

Though she called him kid again, Carl let it roll off his back. He addressed the man manning the table, "Are these homemade?" The jar didn't have a label and the lid didn't either.

Eagerly, the man nodded, "Yeah." Obviously, he wanted Carl to buy them, and Carl could see that the man had dirt streaking his face, his clothes torn and shredded at the seams and ends, riddled with holes. He could use the points.

"Those look good," Carl said, but started to move away. He didn't have any points to spend. Then Laura took the jar of pickles off the table. "No thanks."

"You want something," she shoved the jar in his arms, "you take it, kid." Carl grunted, and wrapped his arm around the jar. It was surprisingly heavy. The pickles were monstrously huge and there were a lot of them. He reminded himself of the pudding, and decided to stretch this out for a week. "Write what you took or what they did, how much it worth, sign you name," Laura explained as she signed for the pickles. Carl nodded and hitched the pickles up higher in his arms. They weighed more that Judith did.

"Alright, we kept him waiting long enough." Laura led Carl outside, and he squinted until his eye adjusted. And there was Negan, a few guys surrounding him.

"There's our future serial killer." Negan smiled at him widely and waved him over with a gloved hand. As Carl approached, Negan gestured to the men around him. "Allow me to fucking introduce everyone." He pointed at each man with a baseball bat, asking them each individually, "Who are you?"

All of their answers were the same: "Negan."

Even when it was Laura's turn once Negan pointed the business end of Lucille at her, she didn't change her answer. She looked right at Carl and said, "I'm Negan."

Shouldering Lucille again, Negan continued to smile crookedly at Carl. "Come here, I want you to see this shit," he gripped Carl's shoulder and pulled him to his side. Releasing him he pointed over the black railing to the fence perimeter covered in walkers. "See anyone you know? Someone disgusting and familiar out of all those dead fucks?"

Carl looked up at Negan and then looked out. It seemed all the men from last night were milling around the fence with their guns, and two men in disgusting sweatshirts with orange painted numbers were struggling to control a walker. A freshly revived walker that they attached to the fence by dripping molten metal over his body. Even from here, Carl could smell the rotten flesh burn. It would kill the walker, but it would permanently attach him to the fence: a warning. The bald head was too familiar, and Carl felt his stomach twist up and drop as if his intestines were a rollercoaster.

Watching his face, Negan knew exactly when Carl saw who he was pointing out. "Rapey fucking Davey. That's right." Look over the crowd, Negan banged Lucille on the railing, and instantly as one giant wave – all the Saviors dropped to one knee before them. Negan propped Lucille against the railing and then grabbed the railing with both hands, crossing his legs.

"You know the deal," Negan addressed the crowd. He barely had to raise his voice, it carried so well over the men. "What's the fucking deal?"

All of them answered as one. "The rules keep us alive."

With halting dramatic pauses, Negan continued, "That... is... right. We survive. We provide security to others. We bring civilization back to this world. We are the Saviors. But we can't do that without rules. Rules are what make it all work. I know it's not easy. But there's always work. There is always a cost." Intense, he leaned over the railing, pressing against it as he raised his voice, a harsh guttural undertone to it. "Here, if you try to skirt it, if you try to cut that corner..." He chuckled humorlessly, "Then it is the iron for you.

"Or worse than the fucking iron!" Negan roared, "Worse than Lucille! Let Dead-Alive Rapey fucking Davey be a daily reminder to everyone else that the rules matter. I hope that we all learned something today, because I don't ever... want to have to do that again."

Turning around, Negan addressed solely Carl now, his voice soft enough that only Carl could hear him. "Some crazy shit, huh? You probably think I'm a lunatic." Again, Negan laughed, "You see that? Respect. Cool, huh? They still on their knees?"

And Carl finally registered that for all the rules, Negan was just a giant dictator. He could change the rules however he wanted and have people killed because he was in the mood. The kneeling, the fact that there was an iron. Carl wasn't sure what to feel. David's punishment was just, but how many others were on that fence for stealing. Taking a quick glance over the still kneeling crowd, Carl didn't see Simon or Dwight and that scared him. He remembered Dwight's face, and thought about his own.

Once Negan realized Carl wasn't going to answer, he straightened up and called over his shoulder to the Saviors below, "As you were!" The men climbed to their feet and the crowd quickly dispersed. Even the Saviors surrounding them – including Laura – disappeared inside, going about their business. Negan waited for all of them to leave before he finally turned back to Carl one more. "Come on. Let's go figure out what to do with you."

Nervous now that they were left alone, Carl couldn't help but ask, "What are you gonna do to me?"

Negan paused at the open door, cocking his head. He closed the door and spun around on his heel. "Number one, do not shatter my fucking image of you. You're a badass, you're not scared of shit. Don't be scared of me. It's a disappointment." His smile had disappeared, but now it was back. "Number two, you really want me to ruin the surprise? Screw you, kid. Seriously. Screw you."


	6. Negan and Carl

Carl trailed after Negan up four flights of stairs, sullen and quiet. His ankle was starting to hurt again, but he wasn't going to say anything about it just yet. For now, he could stand the dull ache.

Pausing in front of a set of double doors, Negan looked down at Carl and explained, "Every woman where you're from dresses like they do the books at an auto shop. You're gonna want to look at these ladies' titties. It's cool. I won't mind. They won't mind. Knock yourself out. Everyone does it and they're used to it. They like the attention. But just look. Don't touch. They're kinda too old for you anyway."

Furrowing his brow, Carl didn't know what all that was about. Before he could ask, Negan had dramatically pushed open the doors with both hands, entering with a crowed, "Ladies, don't mind the kid." Negan entered exactly like a cock in the hen house would. He had that strut with his head bobbing as if he were dancing, leading pelvis first in that perverse way as he leaned back on his heels. _Pelvic thrust_ , Carl remembered from his childhood cartoons. He had to childishly bite his tongue from adding it, as Negan continued to prowl to a young, blonde woman being consoled by a pretty brunette. The brunette sort of reminded Carl of his mom, but then the remembrance was quickly pushed aside as he watched Negan ask the woman, "Can I talk to you for a minute, dear wife?"

Watching as Negan and the brunette went to the mini bar for a drink, Carl hesitantly approached the blonde woman. There was something about her that reminded Carl of Beth. God, every woman here reminded Carl of someone. As he looked around he saw women that had been long dead for a while now. Andrea, Amy, Jacqui. Carl was ashamed that he couldn't remember more names as he spied a dark-haired woman and a redhead that also looked too, too familiar.

The redhead came to him and offered him a brown bottle. "It's not alcoholic." Her smile was soft, kind, unpracticed. "It's cream soda."

He couldn't remember having ever had that before. He accepted it and took a sip – and it was so sweet that he nearly gagged, he wasn't used to it. Carl really missed sugar, and took another hardy sip, sitting in silence as he watched Negan and the woman talk. Sometimes he could hear them.

"…Amber and Mark?"

"What we do when you're not around is none of your business!"

"…what I heard...Mark skipped out on redirect duty…if that's true….rules for a reason. Nothing matters if you're dead…here because you get that."

"…Mistake."

"…Ever hit one of you?"

"No."

From what pieces he heard, Carl tried to understand. Just looking around him he could tell that they were his. They belonged him – to Negan. They're job was to sleep with him and in return they got things like cream soda.

Before Carl think on it further, Negan crossed over and sat on the coffee table in front of the blonde woman. And she was Amber. "Amber, baby," Negan practically purred it, but Carl could tell he was serious, "You know I don't want anyone here that doesn't want to be here, right?" Amber nodded earnestly, tears still in her eyes, and Negan continued, "So if you want to leave and go back to Mark, you can. But what can't you do?"

Dutifully, she recited in a tremulous voice, "Cheat on you."

"That is exactly right. You can't," and Negan seemed to grit his teeth and that purr ever so subtly shifted to a growl, "Cheat on me. There's plenty of other gals who would love to take your place, and there's a few job openings that I can think of. You want to go back to Mark? Hell, I'll put you all on the same job."

Amber's eyes widened and the tears that had been building finally spilt over. "No, I'll stay. I'm sorry."

It unnerved Carl more to hear Negan not curse than to curse as he talked to Amber. "Sorry isn't gonna cut it this time, Amber, baby. This is more than a onetime thing. I've already had to burn Mark's face." Negan clucked his tongue, head shaking slowly from side to side. "And neither of you learned the lesson. Well, fool me once, shame on Mark. Fool me twice, shame on you, Amber."

She actually reached out to Negan, grabbed his hands. "Please don't put me to work on the fence!" She begged, the tears coming in earnest now.

Looking over his shoulder at the brunette that openly watched them, Negan made an exaggerated face. He disentangled his hands from Amber's as he answered her, "Calm the hell down. I've never hit one of you, and I know that you don't need the fence to be punished." Staring deep into Amber's eyes, seemingly unmoved by the tears, Negan was the most serious that Carl had seen him get yet. "You know how I feel about cheating."

And Carl thought of his dad and Shane, and the whole mess that brought their family. How Judith probably wasn't even Dad's.

"You're going back to work, Amber. You don't need any extra points anymore since your mom passed away. I was damn respectful to her. We didn't put her on the fence. Had a nice little funeral cremation for her and everything. And as soon as your mom's ashes went cold, you went back to Mark. You don't love me. Who fucking could?"

Amber buried her face in her hands, barely muffling her sobs. Negan stood up and looked down on her with pity, strangely enough. "Stop crying, Amber. Working in the garden isn't that damn shitty. Fuck. I can make it worse, but I won't. Be grateful for that at least, since you can't be damn grateful for these privileges that you lost."

Turning to address the redhead, Negan ignored Amber's bawling. "Take away her clothes and put her in something suitable for the garden. Frankie, take her now."

Quickly, Negan made for the exit, avoiding the brunette's hard stare. He brushed past Carl without comment, and Carl followed him, unbidden. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the brunette close the door. And over her shoulder he saw the redhead – Frankie – and the dark-haired woman hug Amber comfortingly. Then the door closed and Carl looked forward, forcing himself to walk faster in order to catch up with Negan's long strides. It hurt his leg to do it, but he did it anyway. Amber was nothing like Beth.

Carl followed Negan into a really lavish bedroom. One that he could only assumed was Negan's room. And Negan proved it by making himself comfortable. He tossed is red scarf on the bed and sighed, collapsing in an armchair. "Are all of those women actually your…" Carl trailed off, embarrassed.

"Wives? Yeah. Always wanted to fuck a whole bunch of different woman. I mean, why settle for just one pussy? Why follow the same old rules? Why not make life better? Shit, you're probably too young to know what fucking is anyway."

Belligerent, Carl snapped, "I know what sex is."

Negan cocked his head, giving him a look. He didn't comment any further on that, choosing instead to move on to something else. "Sit, let's get started."

"Started on what?"

"I want to get to know you a little better, Carl," Negan chuckled at him.

"Why?"

"Work it out. You're smart. In fact," Negan sat forward in his chair, propping his elbows on his knees as he fixed Carl with that same intense look that was on Amber earlier. As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and wanted to know what was going on in Carl's mind, too. "I'm gonna tell you just how smart you fucking are, in case you don't already fucking know. See, I'd expect a kid our age to be moping the fuck around, not doing a damn thing, except crying about missing the prom or middle school dance or whatever the fuck. But you," Negan licked his teeth, and it stretched his smile wider.

"You're on a fucking mission. What kind of kid has that kind of big ass gun and all those damn supplies, knees a little fucked up, a herd of the dead-alives nipping right on your ass. You led those fucks right to my front door, practically. I've got men out there leading them away, trying to take care of that. And you just fuck everything up. It's too big of a coincidence. Besides, how can one little shit stain kid fuck everything up unless you were sent. Unless you were part of something much fucking bigger than yourself."

How was Carl supposed to explain that this was one big mistake and that it really was happenstance that he found this place with that herd on his heels? Carl didn't want to admit that he was part of Alexandria. They might use him as a hostage, they might drive over there and take over the place, have Negan institute his dictatorship there as well. Rick wouldn't like it if Carl brought a bunch of strangers back. These people were dangerous. Negan especially was a monster. Just a beast of a man.

Negan dropped his head, the sound he released somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "Ah, I can't, I can't do it." Looking back up at Carl, his expression was one of manic glee, almost threatening. "It's like talking to a birthday present. You gotta take the shit off. I wanna see what Grandma got me."

Sensitive about his bandage, Carl immediately snapped, "No."

"In case it escaped your fucking notice, cyclops," Negan snapped right back, "no one knows that you're fucking here. I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with you. I will do whatever the fuck I want with you. Kill you. Burn your already fucked up face. What's stopping me from putting you up on that fence right beside dead-alive Rapey fucking Davey is my good graces. You keep this fucking smile on my face, you stay alive, kid. What the fuck is it gonna be? Punishment? Do you really want to piss me the fuck off?"

Carl heaved a deep sigh, and then took off first the sheriff's hat. Then he started undoing the bandage, not seeing his choice otherwise.

Meanwhile, Negan practically giggled at him. "Almost there." Once the bandage was gone, Negan imperiously commanded, "Get that hair out of your fucking face. Let me see that shit!" Doing as he said, Carl still wasn't prepared for Negan's over the top reaction. "Christ! Fuck! That is some disgusting shit. No wonder you cover that shit up. Have you seen it? I mean, have you looked in the fucking mirror? That is gross as hell. I can see your eye socket. Fuck, I wanna touch it. Come on, can I fucking touch it?"

Before he could help it, Carl started crying, face pinched. He tilted his head down, embarrassed, not wanting Negan to see. He hadn't cried last night when he was threatened with death. He hadn't even cried when David came at him. But his stupid eye… he cried about that.

Surprisingly, Negan was actually apologetic and regretful. "Damn," he sighed, "holy hell, id. Look, I just, it's easy to forget that you're just a fucking kid." Abashed, Negan rubbed his hand through his stubble. "And I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything." Again, he sighed, "I was just screwing around."

Sniffling, Carl cut him off, "Just forget it." He rubbed at his crying eye, trying to stop crying.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Negan outright groaned at the interruption. "Come the fuck in whoever the fuck!" He called.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," a heavy-set guy with a beard said as he entered. "But, uh, you left Lucille outside."

"Seriously? I never do that," Negan looked at Carl and then back at the man. He accepted Lucille gratefully, his hand almost cradling her handle. Looking back at Carl, ignoring the man still standing there, Negan added, "All jokes aside, you look rad as hell. I wouldn't cover that shit up. It may not be a hit with the ladies, but I swear to you, no one is gonna fuck with you looking as scary as shit as you fucking do. No, sir."

Carl sat there, calmed down now and no longer crying. Negan was giving him whiplash at this point. The man was unpredictable, and Carl didn't know what to expect from him. All he could do is be careful, so he said nothing. Besides, he knew that Enid didn't mind his eye, but he wasn't going to tell Negan about her.

Turning back to the man that entered, Negan addressed him again, "Fat Joseph, did you carry her all the way up here for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you gentle? Were you kind?"

"Uh…" Fat Joseph hesitated.

"Did you treat her like a lady?" Negan rephrased the question.

"Yes," Fat Joseph stuttered nervously, "yes, sir."

"Did you pet her little pussy like a lady?" Negan inquired seriously, and Fat Joseph's eyes went wide. Negan laughed, "I'm just screwing around, man. A baseball bat doesn't have a pussy!" He exclaimed, gesturing with the bat in question.

Fat Joseph actually laughs, long and loud, and genuine. For a moment, it's just him and Negan laughing, and then Negan abruptly orders, "Get the hell out." Immediately, Fat Joseph stops laughing and scurries out the door, closing it behind him as he exits.

"Now, you see?" Negan excitedly faces Carl again, "That's what I'm talking about. Men breaking each other's balls. This is the shit your dad is supposed to be teaching you." He can tell that Carl doesn't get it yet, so he sighs and starts asking questions. "What do you like to do for fun? You like music?" Without waiting for an answer, Negan demands, "I want you to sing me a song."

"What?"

"Yeah, you show up and cost me some food and medical supplies, time that I could be spent fucking one of my wives. I want something in return for that." He repeated, "Sing me a damn song."

"I," Carl was the one stuttering now, still embarrassed, "I can't think of any."

"Bullshit!" Negan countered and proposed, "What'd your mom used to sing for you? What'd your dad play in the car? Start fucking singing."

"Okay, okay," Carl irritably gave in. He knew his dad listened to a ton of country songs, but they were either too long or too embarrassing. There was that song from this morning, but he didn't know how the song went either. In the end, he just thought of the lullaby he had for Judith. His voice cracked as he began to sing, "You are my sunshine."

Climbing to his feet, Negan walked away to an empty space in the room. "Go on," he waved his hand at Carl without looking.

"My only sunshine," Carl continued, watching Negan from the corner of his eye but still avoiding looking at the man as he tried to hide behind his hair. "You make me happy, when skies are gray."

Lucille whistled through the air as Negan swung her down in an arch and immediately Carl choked up and froze. "Do not let me fucking distract you, young man," Negan told him.

"You'll never know dear, how much I love you." Carl thought of Enid now instead of Judith, wondering if he'll ever see her again as he flinched away from the bat Negan swung with a loud grunt. "Please don't take my sunshine away," he finished weakly, voice tremoring.

"That's pretty good," Negan complimented him as he returned to his seat. "Lucille loves being sung to. It's about the only thing she loves more than bashing in fucking brains. Weird, huh? Did your mother sing that to you?" Carl nodded. Now he sung it to Judith since Mom wasn't hear any more. Dad always croaked and could never finish. "Where is she now?" Carl sniffled pathetically, and Negan had the unspoken answer. "Damn. Dead, huh? You see it happen?" Negan sympathetically asked.

"I shot her," Carl admitted. He hadn't told anyone about this in a while. He couldn't even remember the last person he told. Enid certainly didn't know. "Before it could…" He trailed off, not able to force himself to finish.

"Damn," Negan didn't need Carl to say it. He knew. A weird look came over his face, but as quick as a shadow, it left. "No wonder you're a little serial killer in the making." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "That was an example of breaking balls, by the way."

Carl looked him dead on, and shook his head. This time he didn't cry, his tears already spent on himself.

For a long time, Carl was forced to sit there with Negan. They had lunch together. Just some fresh fruit on toothpicks and sandwiches. They'd even cracked open Carl's jar of pickles, though, it annoyed Carl to have to share. Negan ate at least ten pickles by himself while Carl only had five. There were only a few left now. So much for making this stretch out and last a week.

It was a little awkward eating together, but either Negan didn't mind or just didn't seem to notice. After lunch, he had picked up a notebook and started looking through it. Carl figured it had something to do with running the Sanctuary. He knew that while his dad technically ran Alexandria, he mostly delegated count of the armory and pantry to Olivia. Mostly because Rick was often on runs himself or handling negotiations with other communities – namely the Scavengers now. Absently, Carl wondered what his dad was doing now. Did Spencer make it back to tell him what happened? Would Rick come after him himself or would he send Aaron, Michonne, and Daryl instead?

Well, sitting around wondering was getting him nowhere. It was kind of torture to sit here waiting for a real punishment, too. Eventually, Carl finally snapped. "Can I wrap my face now?"

"No, you absolutely fucking cannot," Negan said without looking up from the notebook.

"Why the hell not?!"

That got a laugh out of Negan and he finally looked up at Carl again. "Look at this badass. You can't because I'm not done with you. And I like looking at you fucking disgusting, rad-ass, badass eye, so it's staying out." Carl's mouth twisted and he wanted to say something about how he was even looking at him earlier, but that felt childish. Negan caught the look on his face, though, and he confronted him about it. "What? You got something to say?"

"Why haven't you killed me?"

"It's more productive to break you," Negan answered candidly, and Carl knew he was telling the truth as much as he was fucking with him. "More fun, too. For me at least. You thinking that's stupid? I'm thinking we're fucking different. You're a smartass kid." Negan finally set the notebook aside and leaned forward again, just as intense as before. "What do you think I should do? You know I can't just let you fucking go. You might tell people about our little Sanctuary and then I have a war on my damn hands here. So, should I fucking kill you since you're so damn eager? Iron your face like Mark or Dwight's. You fucking saw Dwight, right? Chop off your arm? You'd be kind of useless, but I'm still fucking considering it. Tell me. What do you fucking think, huh, Carl?"

Without any hesitation, Carl climbed to his feet and got in Negan's face, using his temporary height advantage to intimidate the man like he had done to him earlier. "I think you should jump out the window to save me the trouble of killing you."

Again, Negan just laughed, and he wasn't scared, which only frustrated Carl. "Oh! Now, there is the kid that impressed the fucking hell out of me!" Negan was too gleeful, and it pushed Carl to be reckless. At least, more reckless than usually.

"I think you're not saying what you're gonna do to me because you're not gonna do anything to me. You're not gonna kill me because you think I'm just a kid. But if you knew us – my dad, my friends, my family – if you knew anything, especially about me, you would kill us. But you can't."

Negan tilted his head to the side, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he looked at Carl with blatant curiosity. "Us?"

Carl realized his mistake too late.

"Huh," Negan said, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't." He clapped his hands together. "Okay, kid, go to your room now."

Not expecting that, Carl only blinked at him dumbly.

"Don't make me have to get you a damn chaperone. I will get one of my wives to babysit your dumbass, and that means no video games and only veggies for dinner. You want that shit? Or fucking worse?" Negan mimicked sawing off Carl's hand or popping out his eye as he glanced over at Lucille where she sat beside him on the loveseat.

Mute now, Carl shook his head, turning away. He left quickly before Negan could change his mind, wondering what the hell that was all about.

Unsure of how exactly to get back to his room, he retraced his steps, which meant going back outside. He only glanced once at the walker of Rapey Davey once before he hurried inside, his open plaid shirt catching in the breeze, and he had to hold down his hat to keep it from flying away.

By the time he had made it back to his room, nearly getting lost in the maze of hallways, he was outright limping now. He realized too late that he forgot his eye bandage in Negan's room, too. And his jar of pickles. And his cream soda. As he passed by Dipshit Training Center, he again had to skirt around the puddle of blood oozing out from under the door. Back in his room, he consoled himself with the video games, trying to figure out how it worked. Despite being a prisoner here, it wasn't so bad. But there was always that sense of waiting that soured in his stomach. All he could do it is wait for the other shoe to drop – for Negan to just kill him. But until then he would make the most of it. So, he played the video games. Fuck it.


	7. Rick to the Rescue

When Jesus had parked in an abandon town around midday, Rick thought at first that this wouldn't be a bad place for Carl to find last night. Then Jesus led Rick further into town – past an angel with a necklace made from rotten human hands – and Rick began to have doubts. Jesus forced Rick to be stealthy, to not say a word, to not make a single sound. Rick didn't see anyone around, but trusted Jesus's judgement. There might be snipers after all.

Together they went a little further and then suddenly there was a sprawling factory in front of them. The smoke stacks were smokeless, jutting high into the sky. It was all concrete and rusted metal, surrounded by a gate and make-shift guard-dog walkers pinned in place by chains anchoring them to road blocks or spikes in the ground. Even from a distance, Rick recognized the familiar stench of their rot as they baked under the noon-day sun. Their guttural groans, bone-chilling moans, and endless droning carried on the slight breeze, and Rick shivered. He didn't like the look of this desolate place one bit. Even the prison appeared friendlier than this at a first glance.

Rick's attention was torn away from the factory when Jesus tapped his arm. Ever so quietly, he whispered, "I'm going up to one of those side buildings there. That's normally where they keep their snipers. If it's any of my friends, they'll help sneak us in. You just need to wait here."

Nodding at Jesus, Rick watched him crawl away until he lost sight of them. Then his eyes were one again glued to the factory. He had to begrudgingly admire their defensive measures, but by all means, it wasn't very friendly. The communities couldn't do anything like that, but maybe having the walkers acted as a means to keep other walkers away. While he waited for Jesus, he mulled it over, but suddenly something caught his attention. There was movement from the factory, and Rick immediately sat up. A familiar brown hat bobbed up and down and there was a flurry of blue plaid. Then it was gone again. It had to be Carl.

Not wanting to risk waiting for Jesus any longer, Rick got up and ran towards the factory, snipers be damned. He moved through the walkers, avoiding their teeth and their grabbing hands. One was covered in silver metal, nearly blinding in the afternoon sun. Rick avoided his grasping hands, noticing that he looked particularly fresh to be dead. He used him as a foothold and crawled over the fence. Once he dropped down, he bolted inside. There was one single thought on his mind: finding Carl.

Up in the tower, Dwight impatiently paced back and forth, lit cigarette wafting smoke in the air, while Simon sat on the window ledge, sniper rifle in his hand, staring down at the Sanctuary. "You couldn't just let the kid go? You had to bring him here? Offer him food, medical supplies, a bed."

"What did you expect me to do, Dwight?" Simon snapped looking back as his scarred friend wearing a hole in the floor. "Let the kid get eaten up by that herd out there?"

"Well it's better than him being stuck here. Negan will never let the kid leave now, it's too dangerous for him out there. He's just gonna warp and twist that kid until he's a little serial killer." Dwight took a nervous puff.

"Look if you're gonna smoke up here," Simon snapped irritably, "You gotta share."

As if he were showing off, Dwight took a long drag and puffed the smoke out his nose with a slight whistle. "I thought you quit."

"I tried to."

Again, Dwight took a drag and weakly attempted to blow a smoke ring. "I thought you only smoke cigars."

Rolling his eyes, Simon reached out to snatch the cigarette, but Dwight pulled back, hunching a bit on himself. "Don't ignore this, Simon. The kid would have been better off out there. He has no idea what kind of monster Negan can be."

Simon scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back out the window again. "Negan may be a monster, but it's kept us alive. Someone has to make the hard decisions."

"It's because of Negan that we're isolated like this, Simon," Dwight belligerently argued, smoke leaking out of his mouth as he talked, "That group had good people. We could have worked something out."

"You know exactly why Negan didn't want to do that." Simon restlessly shifted the rifle in his grip, carefully shifting on his precarious window seat. He sighed with the tone of someone who has had this argument before, "He didn't want to owe anyone anything, didn't want us to be taken advantage of." Simon looked back at Dwight again, his tone more serious now, "Don't forget, D, that the people in this world are monsters now, too." His eyes shifted away from Dwight when he saw movement over his shoulder, and immediately Simon hopped off the window and brought his gun up.

Startled, Dwight spun out of the way, but once he saw who it was he calmed down. "Jesus Christ! You scared the shit outta me."

"It's just Jesus," the man in the knit cap, trench coat, and leather gloves said. He held up his hands, showing that he was harmless, and nodded toward Simon. "You gonna tell Simon there to stand down for me, D?"

Looking back at Simon, Dwight waved his hand at him, "This is one of the good guys from that group – the Hilltop. We can trust him."

Giving Dwight a look of disbelief, Simon dropped the business end of the rifle down to point towards the floor. With one hand on his hip, Simon asked Dwight, "So you wanna give me shit about helping out a kid but then you go behind Negan's back and talk to the Hilltop guys?"

Before Dwight could reply, Jesus moved forward, brushing past Simon. "Haven't you ever wondered where Dwight goes when he comes back with a bunch of food?" Gripping the window sill, Jesus stood on tiptoe as he peeked out the window. "So, you guys picked up a kid last night? One blue eye, brown hair, blue plaid shirt, a sheriff's hat? His name is Carl."

Both Dwight and Simon exchanged a look of bewilderment before Dwight finally answered, "Yes, we did. How did you know?"

Pointing out the window, Jesus looked back at Dwight, "For one, I just saw him walk outside for a bit. For another, I know him. He's from a community the Hilltop trades with." Jesus dropped his hand and looked back out the window, not looking at the Sanctuary this time. "And his dad runs that community. And his dad is about to run inside to get him back."

"Shit, shit, shit," Simon pushed Jesus out of the way, nearly shouldering the man out the window. He brought the scope of the rifle up so he could see better, and sure enough there was a curly haired man in a blue-jean button up shirt dodging through the undead at a dead sprint. "There's only one of you?" Simon asked in confusion. He imagined if Negan had a son or daughter and another community had them, Negan would bring a damn army and go to war for her. Hell, Simon definitely would without hesitation or question.

"Would you rather we have brought the cavalry? At least two communities would have showed up to beat the door down and get him back," Jesus countered, "You're lucky it was just me and him."

Lowering the gun, Simon looked between Jesus and Dwight. "Boss isn't going to like this. We were supposed to be keeping watch." Shooting Jesus a suspicious look, Simon took an intimidating step forward, "Were you trying to distract us?"

Not intimidated in the slightest, Jesus looked Simon up and down in a funny sort of way before he answered, "No, I was trying to ask Dwight to open the gate for us, but Rick got impatient."

Dwight's walkie-talkie crackled and all three men stared at in apprehension. "Red alert," came a woman's voice, "there's been a break-in."

"God dammit! Who the fuck was on watch and what the fuck are they watching? Their thumb go up their ass?" Negan's bark broke through the static.

"We better get down there." Simon snatched the half-finished cigarette from Dwight's lips and flicked it out the window. Before Dwight could say anything, he was heading for the stairs, Jesus on his heels.

"Simon, what the shit?"

"Those things shorten your life, Dwight."

"Well, if Negan is as pissed as he sounds, I don't have to worry about the cigarettes killing me," Dwight said as he thundered down the stairwell. They had at least eight flights of stairs to go, and now Dwight was starting to regret the cigarette as he huffed and puffed for breath.

Sneaking through the dark halls with his Colt Python raised, Rick tried to step as quietly as possible in his boots. He knew he had seen Carl – and had he been limping? Worry made Rick through all caution to the wind, and now he was here alone, looking for his son. It was too quiet, like a damn ghost town in here. Rick didn't trust it at all.

With his back pressed against the wall, he crept along, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of Carl. As it was, though, he didn't so much as see anyone as much as he heard a small commotion around the corner.

"Arat, Arat," a woman's voice called, voice echoing down the hall and footsteps pounding on the concrete floors. There was a knocking sound and then the creak of a door.

"Laura! What is it?"

"There's been a break-in. Gavin said he saw something, but I'm not sure."

"Then call it in. I didn't hear anything on the walkie-talkie."

"Dwight and Simon are on watch. After last night, Gavin and I weren't sure if we should say anything."

"Laura, whoever broke in could kill us," the Arat woman sighed, "I'll call it in myself." A walkie-talkie crackled, and then Arat spoke into the piece, "Red alert, there's been a break-in."

There was more static and then a man's voice boomed through the piece, "God dammit! Who the fuck was on watch and what the fuck are they watching? Their thumb go up their ass?"

By now Rick had heard enough and he started back away the way he came. He had to find Carl fast. The women started talking again, though, and what they said next arrested Rick where he stood. "Where's Carl?"

"Boss moved him out of Dipshit Training Center this morning," Laura explained, and Rick nervously ducked down as their voices started to get louder, signally their approach. "I think Carl is still with the boss, though. Or he went back to his room."

Both she and Arat rounded the corner – thankfully going the opposite direction of Rick at a brisk jog. "Should we check the cells?" Arat jerked her head to the left and stopped at an intersection further down. Rick remained perfectly still where he was since there was nowhere for him to hide. "Boss may want to question him."

"No, we need to round up the others. Make sure everyone's safe." Laura grabbed Arat's arm and tugged her to the right, and Rick watched them both run away. Cautiously he trailed after them until he reached the intersection they paused at. He looked to the right, and then looked left and ran at a dead sprint.

He passed door after door, breathing heavily, boots stomping too loud, but he didn't care. They had mentioned something about Dipshit Training Center – whatever that was – but, where was it? Rick slowed down, looking for some kind of sign, half expecting directions to be written on the walls. What Rick hadn't expected was there to be a little withered and yellow piece of note paper taped to a door. It read: Dipshit Training Center. He was in disbelief. This was way too easy.

At the bottom of the door was blood, and Rick went cold at the sight. With caution, he opened the door to what used to be a supply closet but what was now an empty room. There wasn't even a light switch or even a blanket on the floor. Just blood, so much blood, dark red. Not a good sign. His boy was kept here? Rick collapsed to his knees, shuddering, gulping deep breaths of air. Where was Carl now?

An alarm blared and Rick nearly jumped out of his skin. He recognized it as a fire alarm. The factory would be evacuated, they would be looking for him. But Carl… Suddenly a door to Rick's right opened, and he scrambled to get off his knees. And who should cautiously step out but Carl himself, seemingly unharmed.

"Dad?"

"Carl!" Rick ran to his son, pulled him in close for a hug, bowed his body around him as he held him tight to his chest. He pushed the hat aside and kissed Carl's hair, something he hadn't been able to do in a long time since Carl was going through that teenage phase where affection wasn't cool. It was a miracle that Rick hadn't started crying yet. "Carl," he repeated softly, voice thick with emotion.

Carl surprised him by hugging him back, though, his grip wasn't nearly as tight. "I'm okay, Dad. I promise."

Pulling away, Rick righted the hat on Carl's head and then looked his son up and down, nervously checking for injuries. There was a bandage wrapped around Carl's knee, but other than that he seemed fine. Staring into his eye, Rick cupped Carl's face. "Did they hurt you? Did you get bit?"

"No, no, Dad, I'm fine." Gently, Carl pulled himself out of Rick's grasp and gestured to the room behind him. It was a nice room: bed, couch, armchair, countertops, cabinets, microwave, refrigerator – even a small TV. "I've eaten sandwiches. Fresh fruit. Pickles," Carl admitted, "and I've been playing this old video game. _Yar's Revenge_?"

Blinking in confusion, Rick couldn't stop himself from curiously stepping into the room. Jesus had said some of these people were friendly, but still… It paid to be cautious "Carl, we have to go now. We need to get home. Jesus is waiting for us outside. Where are your things? Why aren't you wearing your bandage?"

Before Carl could answer him and explain, there was a commotion down the hall. Shielding Carl with his body, Rick whipped around, pulling his gun from his belt again as he recognized the same two women from earlier and at least five other men behind them. "What are you doing here?" One of the men practically roared at him, baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in hand.

Rick raised his gun to shoot, but hesitated. There were too many of them, and Jesus was still outside. Carl was injured, no weapon. It would be hopeless. Carl pulled his arm, forcing him to lower his gun as the group approached them. Urgently, Carl whispered to him, "Run, Dad, just go!"

But Rick ignored him. "Who are you?" He asked who appeared to the leader. It was the man with the bat, and he wore a black leather jacket and had a red scarf tucked around his neck. He looked only a little older than Rick himself, judging by the silver in his facial hair, but to Rick he carried his age well. He was handsome to say the least, taller, not as broad, but that wasn't necessary.

"I'm Negan. This is my Sanctuary," the man answered him after blatantly looking Rick up and down himself. He was flanked by the two women, the four other men grouped tightly behind him. The Arat woman had her pistol raised as Rick, unwavering, but Rick stood his ground.

"This is my son," Rick reached back and placed a hand on Carl's shoulder. "Let him go. He's injured. Just… just a boy."

"He's anything but a fucking boy!" Negan snapped, unamused though he was smiling broadly at Rick. "He shouldn't have trespassed here! Not he's my fucking prisoner!"

Rick didn't even think before he spoke again, "Take me instead."

There was a pause. No one was expecting that, it seemed. "You?" Negan cocked his head, pinching the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he stretched his smile out impossibly wider, dimples around his mouth deepening and clearly visible underneath his silver scruff. "You want to be my fucking prisoner?" Negan sounded too pleased with the idea already, voice gleefully high.

In addition to the alarm still going off, alarm bells went off in Rick's head. He squashed down all instincts of self-preservation in favor of self-sacrifice for his son. "Please," Rick actually begged, voice soft and placating, "I'll do anything."

Tugging at Rick's shirt, Carl furiously starting muttering, "Dad, no! You don't know what you're doing!"

Again, Rick ignored him, "If I took his place, would you let my son go?"

There was no hesitation on Negan's part as he countered the offer. "You have to fucking stay here, though. Fair leverage. Can't risk having you march back him with an army. They have to think you're dead."

"No, Dad!"

Pushing Carl back further behind him, Rick nodded sternly, not intimidated in the slightest. He doubted that he would keep his word, but he agreed nonetheless. "You have my word."

Obviously pleased, Negan grinned. "Done!" He gestured for his men to step forward to collect Carl, but Carl was putting up a fight about it.

"No, Dad! Listen to me just once, don't do this. We need you, I need you!" Laura and Arat each grabbed him by the arm and manhandled him down the wall.

Angered by the rough treatment, Rick attempted to snatch his son away, but two men pinned him to the wall, restraining him. "Wait!" He called out, struggling against their grasp.

"Dad!"

"Wait! Carl! CARL!"

Carl disappeared from sight down the hallway, but Rick could still hear his yells echoing off the walls, mingling with the alarm's shrillness. "Let my dad go! Lemme go! Let us go! Dad! DAD!"

Turning to one of his remaining men, Negan issued the order. "Gavin, release Carl beyond the fence by the shitty angel statue. That's where Simon found him. Follow him. Make sure he stays fucking safe. Keep an eye out for that damn herd." Annoyance leaked into his voice as he added, "And someone turn off that fucking alarm. Giving me a fucking headache and drawing in every dead-alive for miles around." Looking back at Rick, Negan added, "We have our fucking intruder anyway."

Furious, Rick – in a fit of wild energy – broke free of the two men's grip on him and made a lunge for Negan's throat, his hands nearly encircling the taller man's neck until he was unceremoniously yanked back again before he could tighten his grip. Something hit the back of his head, and everything went black as Rick fell to the floor in a heap, limp and unconscious.

Just as he ordered, Carl was dropped off in town with Gavin dutifully trailing after him. He had a long-range walkie-talkie that he used to keep it touch, giving Negan important updates. Negan listened quietly. The herd was too close for comfort, and the alarm going off and sent them towards the Sanctuary. Fat Joesph's attempt to redirect them a week earlier had not been that successful after all, it seemed. In addition to the herd update from Gavin, Negan also learned that Carl had met up with a man from the Hilltop and he was going there. Gavin said that it didn't seem like Carl actually lived at the Hilltop, he was just close to the Hilltop community. Negan didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Boss?" Simon asked at the door to his room. He had his knuckles resting against the open door, showing that he had knocked, but Negan had been too lost in thought to notice.

"What?" He snapped shortly.

"Uh, well, since that guy is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to place him in some kind of position to work. Prisoner, Worker, or Savior?"

Reminded of the Sanctuary's new guest, Negan reminded himself on why he gave up a future serial killer like Carl for his father. Well, the reasoning was as simple as it was complicated. Simple because Carl's father was a very handsome man. Two blue eyes as sharp as diamonds, ice cold. Chiseled features, neatly trimmed beard edges with grey. His curls were brown, not a lick of grey in them yet. He obviously had muscles, but still a little bit of pudge to his stomach, his thighs deliciously thick. Full pink mouth. Even the scar across the bridge of his nose was charming. Negan wanted him, simple as that. But of course, it was more than that, too.

See, he had been thinking about what Carl had said to him earlier ever since he had dismissed him back to his room. Carl had said (in so many words) that his family was not to be fucked with. Something about Carl's mannerisms, how he had clearly done things before that one wouldn't expect from a kid his age, how he understood how things needed to operate. Negan suspected that Carl came from a position of power. His dad had to be the leader.

And call it an old instinct from his days of selling used cars, but Negan could read people well. He knew what they were thinking, could read expressions like a book. It came in handy for seducing as much as it did for intimidating people. He could talk a smooth sack of shit as if he sold fucking manure instead of cars. Voice slick as oil and sweet as syrup and thick as honey, he could convince anyone to do what he wanted. One of the reasons he made such a good leader besides his bloodthirsty nature and brutality – and sharp intelligence.

So, as he and Rick faced off, he read between the lines. Rick was a man used to being King Shit. Negan saw so much of himself in Rick as much as he wanted to see himself be balls deep inside of Rick's tight little ass. All he had to do was make room for his dick next to the stick that was seemingly already up Rick's ass – or whatever the hell crawled up his asshole.

But Rick could also make a good lieutenant. Hell, with Simon's slip up, Negan might even consider making Rick his new right-hand man, too. The man just had to be trained. And if that position was good enough for Rick, then Negan had just fired Amber from being a wife. Negan hadn't had a husband yet, but Negan always liked variety in his sexual partners.

Realizing that Simon – good ol' loyal (mostly) – Simon was still waiting paitiently for an answer, Negan looked up at his tall, mustachioed right-hand man and rhetorically asked, "How about Husband?"

Simon blinked, and Negan's predatory grin flickered on his face before it settled firmly. Yes, he enjoyed the idea of pretty, blue-eyes, Southern Belle Rick as his new husband quite a lot.

When Rick woke up, he guessed it was around late afternoon, though he had no way of knowing. There were no windows. He sat up in the strange bed, and his last memories flickered through his mind hazily, his head aching. His head… someone had knocked him out. Carl…Carl. Curling up on his side, Rick nearly sobbed out his son's name. They hadn't even let him say goodbye to his boy. His son… He had only just seen him again, and now Rick didn't know if he was safe. Maybe he had met up with Jesus on the outside and they were back at the Hilltop or Alexandria.

Alexandria… Judith, Michonne, Daryl, Gabriel, Rosita, Aaron, Abraham, Eugene, Sasha, Eric, Olivia… they were all waiting for him. Who was going to lead Alexandria in his stead? There were things he had to handle. Alexandria's new garden, the walls were being updated, the armory wasn't fully annexed yet. On top of all that, negotiations with the Scavengers might be tense and there was still that herd to handle. The herd could be at Alexandria's gates right now for all he knew. Sitting up again, slower this time to not agitate his headache, Rick made up his mind. Escape was his only option. He patted his side, looking for the Colt Python, but unsurprisingly, it was gone. Damn it.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and before Rick could get up to enter it the man from earlier – Negan, was his name, strange as it was – walked in with that bat over his shoulder like he owned the place. He did, Rick realized, but pushed the thought aside as he stared up at the man. Lingering in the doorway were two other men, neither of which Rick recognized from earlier. The taller, broader one had a mustache and a lot of muscles. The scrawnier one had a scar, half hidden under his stringy blond hair. He reminded Rick faintly of Daryl, but not much, and the taller one somewhat reminded him of Abraham, but again not really. It was probably just the mustache and muscles.

Staring up Negan accusingly, Rick nearly flinched at the predatory and proud smile on his face. The dimples were handsome yet – the man himself was handsome – but that look in his eye was too close to the kind Jadis had, and Rick didn't like that. "I didn't get to say goodbye."

"What?" Negan asked confusedly, head tilting to one side as he frowned at Rick.

"You didn't even let me say goodbye to my son. I might not get to see him again."

A flash of guilt went across Negan's face as quick as lightning before it was gone again with a shrug. That infuriating smile reappeared just as quick, too. "Get up and I'll show you to your new room."

"My new room?" Rick repeated, "But I thought…" He trailed off as he looked around. He balled up the blankets in his hand, and then looked back up at Negan. "What's wrong with this room?"

"If you think this room is nice, the one I have in mind for you now, Southern Belle, it a helluva lot nicer than this shit hole." Rick balked a little at the nickname and didn't get up. Anger danced across Negan's dark eyes, and he lowly threatened, "Unless you'd rather stay in actual shit hole. Have you seen Dipshit Training Center? I don't think anyone has even cleaned up that nasty ass puddle of blood yet."

"No," Rick answered quickly, almost belligerently, but Negan let the attitude go as he smiled at Rick again.

"Then fucking follow me." Negan reached down and grabbed Rick by the hand as he pulled him to his feet out of the bed. He dropped his hand and walked out the door, not even waiting to see if Rick would follow, but Rick followed anyway. The mustachioed man caught up to Negan while the blond man brought up the rear behind Rick. No hope of escape now.

Leaning close to Negan, the mustachioed man whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Say something to him."

After a beat, Negan slowed down until he and Rick were side by side. He threw an arm around Rick's shoulders, which he barely tolerated, and loudly boasted, "The Sanctuary is your new home now, so, I hope you fucking like it here. You can go anywhere you fucking like except my room. At least, not without my express invitation." He waggled his eyebrows at Rick, and Rick quickly glanced away, down at his boots, unsure of himself.

Unbothered and undeterred by Rick's reaction, Negan blithely continued in that same upbeat tone of voice, "Now, if you need anything, my workers and my Saviors will attend to your every fucking need."

Again, Rick didn't reply, and Negan dropped his arm from Rick's shoulders, looking back at the mustachioed man. Unseen to Rick, the mustachioed man mouthed, "Dinner!"

Negan made an expression of confusion, not understanding or able to read Simon's lips with that damn black pornstache in the way.

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Simon mouthed exaggeratedly slower, "Invite him to dinner!"

Understanding dawned on Negan, and he nodded, giving a Simon a thumps-up for the good idea. Behind them, watching everything, Dwight shook his head at it all. Turning to Rick again, Negan said, "You're gonna have fucking dinner with me and that's not a fucking request. You got it, Southern Belle?"

Giving him a look of bewilderment, Rick stared at Negan hard, his eyes as cold and hard as ice, too. The look had Negan feeling a little hard himself, though, so he didn't look away, not intimidated in the slightest by the shorter man. "Okay," the man finally agreed and then looked back down at the floor, subdued and quiet.

Proud, successful, and victorious, Negan looked at Simon and gave him a happy smile. Simon attempted to match his enthusiasm with his own smile in return, but his looked pained and forced – like he had gas. Looking over Negan's shoulder, Simon and Dwight made eye-contact, exchanging worried expressions with each other. They would see how dinner would go, and they doubted that it would go well at all.

Finally, they reached Rick's new room, which coincidentally was Amber's old room, freshly cleaned out just an hour or so earlier. Luckily, Rick didn't comment on the lingering floral smell of perfume. He just looked around, unimpressed and uninterested. Negan wanted to stomp his foot, but he'd just have to try harder. Rick wasn't easy, but Negan didn't mind the chase. If Rick wanted to play hard to get, that was just going to make Negan harder.

Simon and Dwight waited outside as Rick and Negan entered the bedroom. This one of the remnants of the offices on this upper level of the factory. That meant it was smaller than the old room – no room for a kitchen area – but Rick wouldn't have to use the community bathrooms. This floor was the floor with the parlor where the wives generally gathered. More importantly, it wasn't that far from Negan's bedroom either.

"Alright, I'll leave you to get ready. Probably send one of my wives to help you find the showers and everything. You be fucking nice to her."

Rick made a face at 'wives' plural, but other than that didn't say anything. He just nodded mutely at Negan, waiting for him to leave. But Negan wasn't leaving, just standing there grinning at him all creepily. "Yes?"

"Well, as much as I love to keep fucking calling you Southern Belle, princess, I need to know your fucking name if you're gonna be fucking staying here at the Sanctuary with me." Negan's grin could eat shit now.

A little embarrassed, and Rick wasn't sure if it was at the blatant flirtatious pet names or his own silliness, Rick actually blushed. "Rick Grimes."

"Well, Rick Grimes," Negan purred out his name, savoring the way it tingled on his tongue like booze. Rick shivered at the use of his name, and it didn't go unnoticed by Negan. His eyes flashed, teeth flashing in another smile, and he continued, "I'll see you at dinner tonight, Rick." Stepping out of the room, he closed the door and wiggled his fingers at Rick in a wave goodbye. "Ta-ta."

For a long while, Rick could only stand there. He couldn't comprehend any of what that was, but he knew one thing for sure. There was no way in hell he would go to dinner with Negan now.


End file.
